


Bambi

by phabulousphantom



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), California, Carnival, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Japanese Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Modern Era, Samoan Hunk (Voltron), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 15:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 85,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15004307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phabulousphantom/pseuds/phabulousphantom
Summary: Every summer, the Carnival of Lions hires a bunch of newbies out of San Diego to help with their busiest season. Pidge has talked her two best friends, Lance and Hunk, into working the carnival with her before they part ways for college at the end of the season. But Lance isn't so sure it's a good idea.He's missed the deadlines for college applications, so all the end of the summer looks like to him is a nebulous void. And grilling hot dogs up and down the California coast with a bunch of carnies doesn't seem like the best start to his official adult life.But maybe there's a thing or two for him to learn.A thing or two the boy who operates the roller coasters can teach him.





	1. Buried Awake

Why Lance had ever let Pidge talk him into such a stupid summer job, he would never know. The demon-child was persuasive. Riding shopping carts down the hill on B Street? Pidge. Starting a rumor about the dead girl who haunted the boy’s locker room? Pidge. Hammering frozen hotdogs into the student body president’s front lawn so that they would thaw overnight and rip in half when you tried to pull them out? Pidge. It always came back to Pidge.

            Now, standing in front of the trucks and trailers, the dismantled rides and folded up food stalls for the Carnival of Lions with his duffle bag slung over one shoulder and a sleeping bag on the other, Lance was really starting to regret getting tangled up in another one of her schemes.

            “I’ve made a huge mistake,” he said.

            “Aw, don’t say that, man,” Hunk complained at his side, sounding genuinely nervous. “I already feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

            “Nobody’s throwing up,” Pidge said. “It’s just for the summer. And it’ll be fun.”

            She grabbed both their wrists and stomped into the maze of scattered bits of carnival. Lance stumbled over the cracks in the parking lot asphalt as Pidge pulled him swiftly along. It was weird seeing the carnival in pieces. Just a few days ago, everything had been up and operational—all the rides and the games and the booths where you could buy deep-fried literally anything. Now the whole place was flat and packed onto the backs of trucks and trailers. Pidge’s proposal to spend their summer working for the funfair, traveling with it up and down the California coast, had sounded cool at the time when it was all set up and glowing, when she’d come running over with job applications for the three of them, the lights of the Gravitron reflected in her glasses.

            Now it seemed more than a little depressing.

            “You know what? I’ve changed my mind,” Lance said, trying to pull his wrist free from Pidge’s grasp. “I don’t really want ‘carny’ on my resume.”

            Pidge doubled down, her grip turning into a freaking tourniquet.

            “Ow!”

            “You can’t back out now,” she said. “If you back out, that means Hunk will back out, and then I’ll be alone.”

            “Wait, is backing out an option?” Hunk asked.

            Sighing, Pidge came to a stop between a couple of semitrailers. Her eyes flicked to her feet, and she pursed her lips into a frown. “It’s our last summer,” she said softly. “I really want to spend it with you guys.”

            The three of them went quiet. They’d just graduated from San Diego High School, like, _just_ graduated. Four days ago, they’d walked at a big ceremony while “Pomp and Circumstance” played and Hunk had tripped and Lance had nearly peed himself laughing and Pidge had given her valedictorian speech and the door on that phase of their lives had closed in a very permanent way. Hunk and Pidge—their next doors were already open, just waiting for them to walk through come autumn. Pidge had Stanford. Hunk the California Institute of Technology. Lance…well, Lance couldn’t even _see_ his door. If there was one.

            “Please?” Pidge said.

            Lance drew in a deep breath and let it out slow. “Fine.”

            Pidge whooped, throwing her arms in the air and pumping her fists, then taking off like a rocket through the parking lot. Lance glanced at Hunk.

            “You don’t have to list the job as ‘carny,’” Hunk said. “I think ‘fairground technician’ has a nice ring to it?”

            Lance couldn’t help but laugh. He clapped Hunk on the shoulder and smiled. “You’re right, buddy. You’re absolutely right.”

            They pulled the straps for their duffels and sleeping bags higher up their shoulders and followed Pidge’s trail. She was easy to spot once they got out from between the semitrailers, standing at the back of a line that led into one of those temporary offices like they have on construction sites. The line was comprised mostly of other teenagers also there to work the summer before returning to school or going off to college.

            Or moving back in with his parents, in Lance’s case.

            “What kind of job assignments do you think we’ll get?” Pidge said as they stepped into line behind her. “Do you think they’ll need engineers? Or do they already have people for that? They probably have people. But what if they don’t? Do you think we could get promoted to engineers? I’d _way_ rather do that than flip burgers or dunk hotdogs or whatever. Do they have hotdogs here?”

            Lance just let her ramble, tucking his hands into his pockets and making a determined inspection of the weeds growing out of the cracks at his feet. The line moved up. He stared at the asphalt instead. The line moved up. He rubbed the toe of his sneaker over a stain on the carpet of the first of the stairs to the office.  The line moved up. Air conditioning spilled out the open front door and grabbed his attention, but it was too dark inside and too sunny outside for him to see much of anything in the office.

            He tried not to draw a comparison between that rectangular black hole and his vision of his future.

            “Lance?”

            He jolted to attention and found Pidge looking up at him expectantly.

            “Huh?”

            “I said, ‘what do you want to do?’” she repeated.

            “What, like, at the carnival?”

            She nodded.

            Lance shrugged. “Whatever I can classify as ‘fairground technician.’”

            A pair of girls ahead of them snorted, so he sent them a scowl. They didn’t react, though, because someone inside waved them forward and they stepped into the office. Lance and Pidge and Hunk took their places at the front of the line, and Lance stuck his head through the door, blinking as his eyes adjusted.

            It was a decent space, kind of old and kind of musty, but otherwise in pretty good shape. There were a bunch of filing cabinets lining the walls—well, _strapped_ to the walls, like, literally attached with ratchet straps—and a couple of desks that didn’t have anything on them other than paper and pens. The legs of the desks were drilled to the floor, probably so they wouldn’t slide around while the office was hooked up to a truck going seventy down the freeway.

            Lance was about to make a joke about getting crushed by one of the filing cabinets while joyriding in the office, when the girls who had snorted at him finished at the first desk and moved on to the second—revealing the most beautiful girl Lance had ever seen in his entire existence.

            She put her hand in the air, smiled, and said, “Come in, please.”

            Pidge and Hunk went inside. Lance just melted.   

            “Lance?”

            An eyebrow raised, Hunk looked back at him from in front of the desk, so Lance hopped to and swept inside. He tried to look suave, but stumbled over a bump in the carpet. The girl behind the desk chuckled, but Lance didn’t care because even her laugh was beautiful.

            “Welcome to the Carnival of Lions,” she said, smiling at each of them in turn. “May I take your papers, please?”

            She had on one of the carnival uniforms—a pink and white striped shirt—with a nametag that said “Allura.” Lance was too busy blushing at her to fork over his papers, so Pidge had to grab them out of his hands.

            “What are all your names?” she asked as she checked their papers to make sure everything was filled out correctly—social security, tax info, boring employment stuff.

            “I’m Pidge,” Pidge replied. “And this is Hunk and Lance.”

            Allura smiled again, and Lance’s heart pinched.

            “A pleasure to meet you,” she said. “My name is Allura. We’re quite excited to welcome you on board.”

            “On board what?” Lance asked. “Is there a ship or something?”

            Allura laughed. “On board the team. Summer is our busiest season. We always need new faces to assist us.”

            Lance just nodded dumbly, avoiding the knowing look Pidge gave him out of the corner of her eye.

            “It looks like everything is in order,” Allura said and tucked their papers into a pile on the desk. “If you’ll step just over there, Shiro will give you your bunk assignments, nametags, and uniforms. Lovely to meet you.”

            “Pleasure’s all mine,” Lance replied with a grin, so Pidge rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist to drag him away.

            Some attractive, intimidating, punk-looking guy with two-tone hair was seated behind the next desk. Scar across his nose, muscles like a friggin’ Greek statue. The smile he gave them was surprisingly friendly, as was the greeting that came out of his mouth. The tone of his voice was warm like honey.

            “Hey,” he said. “I’m Shiro. Welcome to the team. I’m the staff manager, so if you need anything, I’m the guy to ask. What are your names?”

            “Pidge—well, Katie,” Pidge replied, her gaze turning to the rows of premade nametags Shiro had on the desk in front of him. “Mine probably says Katie.”

            Shiro scanned the rows and found a “Katie” and passed it to Pidge. “We can get a new one made up for you, but hold onto that for now.” He smiled, then looked to Lance.

            “Lance,” he said, and Shiro passed him a nametag.

            “Hunk.” And the same thing again.

            “What size shirts do you want?” Shiro asked, gesturing over his shoulder to a bunch of boxes full of t-shirts that were pushed up against the wall.

            The three of them exchanged expressions before they answered.

            “Uh—extra-small, probably,” Pidge said.

            “Medium,” Lance replied.

            “As big as you’ve got,” said Hunk.

            Shiro rolled backwards in his chair and spent a hot second fishing a set of t-shirts for each of them from the boxes. When he turned around, he had a stack of green-and-white stripe, a stack of yellow-and-white stripe, and a stack of blue-and-white red-and-white mixed.

            “The sizes are a little wonky, sorry,” he said. “You’re supposed to get one in every color, but since you’re some of the last ones, this is what we’ve got.” He passed the piles over and Hunk immediately unfolded one of the yellow and white t-shirts to hold up against his chest to check the size. Shiro turned to a list on the desk next to the nametags. “Looks like the three of you are rooming together. Trailer six.” They each received a set of keys. “Go ahead and drop your stuff off, but don’t get too settled. We’ll be departing in the next half an hour.” A smile, a gesture to a door out the other side of the office, and, “Welcome on board.”

            “Bunch of flight attendants…” Lance grumbled, following Pidge and Hunk as they left the office and stepped into the sun.

            All the trailers for living in were parked on the far side of the lot, and most of them were already hooked up to trucks and ready to go. They found trailer six easy enough—close to the end of the row, close enough that Lance could see the water in the bay sparkling across the road.

            “Remind me why I let you convince me leaving southern California was a good idea?” he said to Pidge as she fiddled with the keys in the ratty screen door.

            “Shut up already,” she replied. “You’ve got your nametag. They own your soul for the summer.”

            The key turned in the lock and she let out a triumphant hiss, squirreling through the actual door with just as much trouble. Inside, the trailer matched the office note for note. Old, the look and smell of the 70s, but decently cared for. A set of bunk beds built into the wall sat next to the bathroom at one end. At the other, a couch with storage up above. Between, a kitchenette and a restaurant-style booth table. The whole thing was dark and murderously hot.

            “Where’s the third bed?” Hunk asked as he stood in the doorway.

            Pidge scrambled over and dumped her stuff on the table, then proceeded with a demonstration like she was a used trailer salesperson.

            “There are all kinds of hidden beds,” she said. “This model is made to sleep seven. One on each bunk.” She pushed the table down flush with the seats on the booth and folded the seat backs into the gap. “Two here.” She went to the couch and pulled it flat. “Two here.” Then she stood on the couch and somehow managed to unhook the front of the storage cabinet to lay that down flat as well so that it hung in the air. “One here. Though this doesn’t look structurally stable, so we probably shouldn’t put any weight on it.”

            Hunk looked at Lance, his eyes wide. Lance made an incredulous face back at him. The space was tight with three people, let alone _seven_.

            “You should take the couch-bed, Hunk,” Pidge said as she latched the storage cabinet back into place. “That has the most room, and that way we can still use the table. I’ll take the bottom bunk, since there isn’t a ladder and I’m too short to climb up there.”

            Lance scowled at her. “What, so I have to?”

            In response, Pidge measured his legs from hip to heel by spreading her arms and silently comparing the length to her body. Lance put his hand in her face and shoved her away, moving deeper into the trailer to toss his duffel, sleeping bag, and t-shirts onto his assigned bed.

            “Fine, I’ll sleep on the top bunk.”

            “Not my fault you’re Jessica Rabbit,” Pidge replied.

            “That was _one_ Halloween, Pidge.”

            Pidge started singing “Why Don’t You Do Right?” while putting the table back together like she was performing a strip-tease. Thankfully, Lance was rescued by Hunk when he tried to go into the bathroom to check it out and couldn’t quite fit through the door and ended up squishing Pidge in the process.

            “What is this? A bathroom for ants?” he said, slipping through the door and standing in the tiny space with his shoulders scrunched around his ears.

            “It’s Pidge-sized,” Lance replied. Pidge stuck her tongue out at him, so he returned in kind.

            “You guys, I don’t think I can shower in here,” Hunk continued. “I can barely move my arms. What if I can’t shower _anywhere?_ Will I just have to go the whole summer without showering? I can’t live that kind of life, man!”

            “Relax, Hunk. I’m sure there’s a hose somewhere,” Lance replied.

            He went to laugh, looking Hunk’s direction, but the expression on Hunk’s face was one of actual, bona fide horror.      

            “Oh, jeeze, man, sorry. I was just kidding. That Shiro guy has to shower somewhere, right? I bet he’ll let you borrow his.”

            “He probably bathes in the blood of his enemies,” Pidge said. She climbed into her bunk and settled her duffel into the corner, then wiggled around like she was trying to find the most comfortable spot. It didn’t look like there was one. “Why is it so _hot_ in here?”

            “Open up the windows,” Lance said, poking his head into her bunk. “Let some air in.”

            He yanked back the crap curtain that hung over the window and found a face practically pressed up against the screen staring in at them. Pidge and Lance screamed. Hunk screamed by extension. The window creeper just laughed. A couple of jovial tears even rolled down his cheeks and into his orange mustache.

            “Welcome, campers!” he shouted, his voice loud even through the shut window. “Sorry to startle you. Just making the rounds to introduce myself.”

            Hesitantly, Pidge slid the window open. “Do you want us to come out there?”

            “No, no, that’s all right. You stay cozy. I’m Coran. Your boss.” He said “boss” weird, like he wasn’t actually, and winked after, which didn’t help. “Lance, Hunk, and Katie in there, correct—oh, hang on. I only count two.”

            Hunk squeezed out of the bathroom and bent over to wave at Coran from outside the bunk.

            “Ah, there’s three. Well, lovely to make your acquaintance. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He winked again, then disappeared. 

            Lance pressed up against the screen to see where he went, but the guy was gone-zo. “Is that dude really our boss?”

            “If he’s actually Coran, yeah,” Pidge replied. “Coran’s the name of the guy who runs the place. The carnival used to belong to his brother, Alfor, and they operated it together until Alfor died. Allura—the girl from before—she’s Alfor’s daughter. She’ll probably take over once she turns eighteen.”

            Lance liked the sound of that. “Ooh, a business lady. Very nice.”

            “How do you know all this?” Hunk asked.

            “I did my research,” Pidge said and shoved Lance out of the way so she could escape the bunk. “I wasn’t just going to sign us up to work for some rando carnival willy-nilly without knowing anything about the chumps who run it.”

            “Wow,” Hunk replied. “Do you think you can talk them into moving us into a trailer with a bigger bathroom?”

            “I know _about_ them, Hunk. I don’t actually _know_ them.”

            “Could you try?”

            Pidge gave him a flat look and opened her mouth to respond, but someone knocked on the door. All three of them glanced at each other, then Hunk pointed to himself and raised his eyebrows.

            “Well, I’m not gonna get it,” Lance replied. “You guys are blocking me in.”

            Delicately, like there was a possibility he might break through the floor—which in all fairness, given the trailer’s age, there probably was—Hunk squeaked over to the door and pulled it open.

            “Oh, hey, Allura.”

            “Allura?”

            Lance sat up and knocked his head on the top bunk. Pidge laughed, so he shot her a scowl, grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked her into the bunk while he climbed out. She cursed, swiping at him, but missing as Lance hurried over to the door and put on his best charming smile.

            “Hey,” he said.

            “Hello.” She smiled. “I’m glad to see the three of you have settled in.”

            “Oh, we’ve settled,” Lance replied. “The trailer is great.”

            Hunk opened his mouth to contradict him, but Lance gave him a “be cool, man” expression, so he didn’t say anything. Allura continued.

            “Everyone is all checked in, and we’re ready to make our way to Crescent City. I just wanted to check—none of you are the ones who have commercial driver’s licenses. Is that correct?”

            “No, we don’t,” Lance answered. “Did you need us to get them? I’ll study for the test.”

            Allura laughed, and jeeze if that still wasn’t the prettiest sound in the world. “No, that’s quite all right. We have enough drivers, I just wanted to make sure none of you would be towing your own trailer.”

            “Ah, better put Keith on this one, princess,” Coran said, materializing behind her with a clipboard. Lance was glad Pidge had told them Coran was Allura’s uncle, otherwise the pet name would have been weirder than it already was. “Number six has got the hitch that’s been a touch testy. I haven’t had time to replace it.”

            “It’s like _fifteen_ hours to Crescent City,” Pidge said, poking her head between Hunk and Lance.

            “Exactly!” Coran replied. “Which is why you’re getting our best driver.”

            He gave them a wink that sent shivers down Lance’s spine.

            “Go ahead,” Coran said, waving at them to go back inside. “Put on your t-shirts! Secure your duffels! It’s time to rock and roll!”

            Allura smiled and nodded at them before leaving with Coran. The trio shut the door and switched into their new t-shirts, which were surprisingly comfortable and fit pretty well, all things considered. Then Pidge and Hunk tucked their bags and stuff into the storage area, but Lance figured it wouldn’t really matter and left his shoved into the corner on the top bunk.

            “Are we driving straight through?” Lance asked as they left the trailer.

            “Probably,” Pidge replied. “It’s what? Like six forty-five now? We can probably get to Crescent City by ten.”

            “It’ll be more like midnight,” someone said, and the three of them looked to the bed of the truck attached to their trailer where some guy in a red staff t-shirt was securing a bunch of folding chairs. “If we’re lucky.”

            He was striking—in that dark and broody kind of way, black hair and eyebrows over dusky eyes. Had that air of I’m-a-bad-boy-don’t-talk-to-me about him which simultaneously intrigued and annoyed Lance.

            “Jeeze, what is this place? The beautiful people parade?” he muttered under his breath.

            “Are you Keith?” Hunk asked.

            “Yup.”

            He didn’t say anything else, just swung down from the truck bed and walked toward the cab. When none of the rest of them moved, he raised his eyebrows and gestured at the car.

            “Let’s go?”

            “Shotgun!” Pidge yelled and made a dash for the front seat, but Lance grabbed the back of her shirt again and held her in place.

            “Not so fast, little sister. If I have to sleep on the top bunk, I should _at least_ get to ride shotgun.”

            “That’s not how shotgun _works_ ,” Pidge hissed, trying to pry him off.

            “There aren’t _rules_ to shotgun.”

            “Yes there are!”

            “It’s a made up game!”

            “ _Every_ game is made up!”

            “Look, will you just get in the truck already?” Keith shouted, halfway in now, his head sticking up above the roof.

            Pidge and Lance stopped bickering, and Lance was distracted just enough for Pidge to wriggle free, but not to beat him to the front passenger seat door. He outmatched her handily and climbed into the cab, shutting and locking the door behind him before she even had a chance to scramble in.

            “It’s your nasty Jack Skellington legs,” Pidge complained as she begrudgingly got into the backseat.

            “ _One Halloween,_ Pidge!”

            “You wore that costume two years in a row, actually,” Hunk put in. Lance just glared at him. Hunk quietly got into the cab and buckled his seatbelt.

            “Are you gonna be like this for the whole drive?” Keith asked.

            Lance looked at him and, for whatever reason, the irritated expression on the guy’s face made him blush.

            “No promises,” Pidge said and flicked Lance’s ear over the shoulder of his seat.

            “Ow, hey!”

            Keith sighed and started the engine. Again, Lance blushed.

            The truck at the other end of the line of trailers started to pull out of the parking lot, and pretty soon it was their turn to go. Keith put the vehicle into drive and followed the others in a goofy caravan of trailers until they got to the freeway. Then he punched the gas and pulled ahead of the rest.

            “Do you guys hear that?” Pidge asked.

            “Hear what?” Lance looked back at her in the rearview.

            “I don’t know—it’s like a weird clapping sound, but metal on metal. Oh my god.” She sat straight up in her seat and turned her entire body around to look out the window. “Lance, did you lock the trailer doors behind you?”

            Lance went pale. Hunk quietly gasped. Keith grit his teeth and grumbled, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

            Praying he had, but knowing he hadn’t, Lance rolled down his window and stuck his head out to look back at the trailer. Sure enough, the screen door was wide open and slapping against the corrugated metal side. The regular door was open too, exposing the innards of the trailer to the wind.

            “I _may_ have forgotten,” he said.

            Just as the words left his mouth, the screen door was ripped from its hinges and went flying into traffic behind them. Several cars swerved and a lot more honked and Keith swore, nearly overcorrecting to dodge a sedan that sped up alongside them just to flip the bird.

            “What was that? What’s happening?” Hunk groaned, then lurched and covered his mouth as Keith swung into the exit lane to get off the freeway. “I thought you were the best driver!”

            “The door was blown free!” Pidge cried, poking her own head out her window.

            “Yeah, I know,” Keith snapped. He went flying down the exit ramp and took a right at the light, pulling into a gas station almost immediately. The truck and trailer screeched to a halt and Keith put his hand palm up in the air. “Keys,” he said.

            “I left mine in the trailer…” Lance said softly.

            Pidge grimaced. “So did I.”

            Hunk did not reply because he was too busy opening his car door to go running for the gas station holding his hand over his mouth looking ready to hurl. Keith practically kicked his door open and got out, stomping around the truck to get to the trailer.

            “Admittedly, not the best of first impressions,” Pidge said.

            “You think?”

            “I’ll go help him look for the keys,” she said and slid out of the cab. “You should make sure Hunk’s all right. And buy something so that it’s okay for him to use the bathroom.”

            “On it.”

            Anything to get away from Keith.

            Lance hopped out of the truck and hurried into the gas station. “You see a big Samoan guy come through here?” he asked the cashier.

            “Went into the bathroom,” she replied. “Customers only.”

            Lance gave her a thumbs up. “No worries. I came in for treats.” And Dramamine, if they had it. He wove through the aisles to get back to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “Hunk? You all right, buddy?”

            Hunk’s groan echoed off the bathroom walls in reply.

            “Yeah, figures. I’ll get you a Sprite or something, sound good?”

            A vaguely affirmative groan.

            “Cool.”

            Lance went back to the aisles and lazily browsed. He could feel the cashier’s eyes on him, but tried not to mind. He did find some Dramamine in the little pharmacy section and got a Sprite out of the fridge. Hunk still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom, though, so Lance stood in the candy aisle and just sort of stared at it all, watching the door fly off the trailer in his mind’s eye over and over again. He grabbed a big bag of Twizzlers and went to the checkout. Hunk appeared as the cashier was counting Lance’s change.

            “All good?” he asked as Hunk came up to claim the Sprite.

            Hunk nodded. “Thanks for the drink.”

            “No problemo. Let’s go.”

            Together they left the gas station and jogged across the parking lot to the truck and trailer where Keith and Pidge were already seated and waiting. Lance climbed into the cab and held the bag of Twizzlers out to Keith.

            “Hey, man. Sorry about the door.”

            Keith stared at the candy, then at Lance. “What is that?”

            “Apology candy,” Lance replied.

            “Twizzlers?”

            “I don’t know. You just seemed like a Twizzlers kind of guy.”

            “Why? Because my shirt’s red?”

            Lance opened his mouth to say how stupid that was, drew in a breath, then realized that that _was_ why he’d picked them out. His expression turned into a scowl. “Do you want the candy or not?”

            “Are they pull-apart?”

            “Yeah, duh. Who likes regular Twizzlers?” He slapped the bag into Keith’s chest and let go so they fell into his lap.

            “What did you get me?” Pidge asked, sitting up in the backseat.

            “No treats for goblins.”

            Keith must have seen her raise her fingers to flick Lance’s ear again in the rearview mirror because he literally _hurled_ the bag of Twizzlers at her and shouted, “We can share! We can share! Christ, would you leave him alone?” The Twizzlers smacked Pidge in the face and she let out a squawk of surprise, but seemed happy with the result regardless, opening the bag and getting her grubby mitts on a piece right away.

            Lance looked Keith’s way as he turned the key in the ignition, and when Keith looked back Lance offered a smile. Keith gave just a slight flicker of one in return.

            Then they got back on the road.

 

Two hours later, the truck hit traffic going into LA. The caravan had long since disbanded, trucks and trailers and everything scattered at various points along the freeway. Not that it mattered much, since they’d lost the caravan in the first place after the incident with the door. Lance settled back in his seat, mentally preparing for the constant stop-and-go, and the drive might have been tolerable—were it not for Keith’s horrible taste in music.

            “What even _is_ this?” Lance asked.

            “Thelonious Monk,” Keith replied.

            “Thehoonimus-what-now?”

            “ _Thelonious. Monk_.”

            “Sounds pretentious.”

            “He’s the second most-recorded jazz composer of all time.”

            “Jeeze. I’d hate to hear the third.”

            Keith glared at him. Lance put up his hands and shrugged, then reached for the radio in an attempt to switch the source, but Keith slapped his hand away.

            “Ow!”

            “Driver picks the music,” Keith replied.

            Hunk sat up in the back, much perkier now that his stomach had chilled out. “No offense, man, like, I can appreciate what jazz did for music and all, but this is _objectively_ terrible to listen to.”

            “Was his piano out of tune?” Pidge contributed.

            “It’s called dissonance.”

            “It’s called ‘it sucks,’” Lance said, successfully switching from the CD to the radio. The cab was treated to a brief flash of “Havana” before Keith switched it back to what literally could have been an elephant walking across a keyboard for all Lance knew.

            “Come on, man,” he complained. “The song of my people!”

            “Just made yourselves right at home, haven’t you?” Keith said through his teeth. “It’s like riding with a bunch of children.”

            “Would you wike a Twizzwer, Uncle Keef?” Pidge asked, fishing one out of the bag and sticking it in his face.

            “Oh my _god_ , I will drive this truck off the road.”

            “But you’re the best driver,” Hunk said.

            Keith flashed a glare into the rearview. “Would you knock it off with that?”

            “How old even are you?” Lance asked.

            Keith glanced at him. “What?”

            “How old are you? You said driving with us was like driving with children, so I want to know. How old are you?”

            “Nineteen,” Keith replied, but he wasn’t happy about it.

            “I’ll be nineteen in July.”

            “Good for you.”

            “Pidge just turned eighteen in April, and Hunk did way back in January. You know what that means? We’re all old enough to vote.”

            “So?”

            “So we’re gonna vote on the music.”

            “ _Driver_ picks the music.”

            “This is _America_ ,” Lance replied. “An alleged _democracy_. And—well—if the government’s not going to honor democracy in Washington, damn it, we’ll honor it in this truck. Right, Hunk?”

            Hunk put his hand over his heart. “Right!”

            “Okay, then, all in favor of switching to the radio?”

            Lance, Pidge, and Hunk all raised their hands. Keith clenched his jaw.

            “I think the ayes have it, gentlemen. Radio it is.”

            He switched off the jazz, but by then “Havana” was long gone. The station was playing commercials, so Lance browsed around until he found one broadcasting classic rock.

            “Is this an okay compromise for you, old man?” he asked Keith.

            Keith did not respond, but he didn’t try to put the jazz back on, so Lance figured it was a win and settled back to watch the city slowly pass by.

            He’d never been further north than Los Angeles, and even then he’d only visited the city a handful of times to see family. His cousins still lived in Echo Park. Other than that, Lance hadn’t really been anywhere. His family had moved to LA when he was six, so he couldn’t really remember Cuba, then to San Diego when he was eight, so he couldn't even really remember LA. His parents had put him into kindergarten rather than first grade after the move, which was the reason he’d ended up in the same grade as Pidge and Hunk. _They’d_ been all over. Pidge to Europe with her parents and brother. Hunk to Australia and New Zealand and Costa Rica and Mexico. Maybe that was part of the reason Lance had agreed to Pidge’s carnival proposal. Paid travel. To him, even Northern California seemed like another world altogether.

            He sat up as they crawled out of LA traffic and beyond the city, drawing in a deep breath. The furthest he’d ever been. And going further still. Like seven hundred miles further.

            “How long have you been working for the carnival?” he asked Keith, sparing him only a glance. “Since you graduated?”

            “I didn’t graduate,” Keith replied.

            Cringing, Lance regretted asking, but Keith actually didn’t seem too bothered. Since breaking out of the stop-and-go traffic, he’d loosened up a little. More than likely the guy just liked to go fast. No doubt replacing his ear-hurting jazz with listenable music had also helped.

            “I’ve been with the carnival since I was sixteen,” he said, carefully switching into a lane to overtake another car. Impressive, given the weight their truck was hauling. “They kicked me out of school. Shiro got me a job.”

            “Do you like it?”

            “Yeah.”

            That seemed to be all he had to say on the subject for the moment. Lance went quiet, trying to imagine being a real and proper carny. Three years was a long time—especially when those years came between sixteen and nineteen. Had he spent all that time just trawling up and down California setting up rides and hauling trailers and sleeping in a top bunk and showering in a shower made for children?

            “I’m from Sacramento,” Keith said, surprising Lance by speaking of his own accord. “The Carnival of Lions is based out of there, so I’ve been familiar with it since I was a kid.”

            “Oh.”

            Lance glanced into the backseat to see if Pidge or Hunk had any input for the conversation since he really didn’t know what else to say. Both of them were asleep. Which left Lance basically alone with a guy he had royally pissed off at least two times in the last three hours. Suddenly, he became agonizingly uncomfortable and unconsciously shifted his weight closer to the door and the window. The view was interesting, at least.

            For his part, Keith seemed perfectly fine with the silence.

 

The next thing Lance knew he was waking up as the truck came to a stop, and he wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn he heard a few notes of jazz as Keith put the thing in park and took the keys out of the ignition. Pidge and Hunk stirred in the backseat as well.

            “Rest stop,” Keith said. “Pee or do whatever. You’ve got half an hour.”

            He got out of the car and walked across the parking lot of the gas station they’d arrived at to a Sonic where Shiro and a bunch of other people in carnival t-shirts were sitting around an outside table eating tater tots and slushes. When had they caught up to them?

            “Where are we?” Pidge asked groggily, rubbing her eyes.

            “I fell asleep,” Lance replied.

            “ _Man_ , am I hungry,” Hunk said.

            “My phone’s giving me weather for Hayward,” Pidge said. “Looks like we’re pretty close to San Francisco.”

            “Already?”

            She shrugged. “I need a bathroom and a cheeseburger, stat.”

            “I’ll walk over,” Hunk said, carefully preparing himself to exit the vehicle. “I need to stretch my legs. You want anything Lance?”

            “Whatever you’re getting and a blue slush.”

            “What kind of blue?”

            “What do you mean what kind?”  
            “They have like seven different kinds of blue slushes.”

            “I don’t care. Just blue. You know that flavor that’s just, like, blue? That’s what I want.”

            “Roger. Blue flavor slush, plus meal. Cheeseburger for Pidge.” He gingerly slid out of the truck and stretched on the asphalt before following Keith’s trail. “On it.”

            Lance and Pidge both lingered in the truck for a second, still waking up. He couldn’t believe there were already halfway through the drive. Sleeping made it go so fast. Hayward, or wherever they were, had a totally different vibe from San Diego, he could already tell. It even smelled different. Lance eyeballed the bumpy yellow hills across the street. Pidge leaned forward to stick her face between Lance’s headrest and the side of the car.

            “So, Keith’s cute,” she said.

            “Hadn’t noticed,” Lance lied.

            “Did you guys have a heart-to-heart?”

            He turned around to glare at her. “I fell asleep right after you did.”

            Pidge just grinned. “ _Okay_.”   

            “Didn’t you say you had to pee?”

            “Don’t you?”

            Now that she’d brought attention to it, he did. Like, really bad. Lance got out of the car and headed for the gas station convenience store. Pidge followed, chuckling to herself. They went to the bathroom and returned just in time to trade Hunk who had come back with all the food. He went into the store as Pidge hauled herself up onto the side of the truck bed and sat down to eat her cheeseburger.

            “Thanks for coming with me, Lance,” she said and smiled briefly down at him before fixing her gaze on those bumpy hills. “I’m really gonna miss you. Like a lot.”

            He clapped a hand on the ankle of one of her dangling legs. “We’ve got the whole summer ahead of us, Pidge,” he said with a grin, giving her leg a shake. But after that, who knew when they would see each other again? Lance let go. “I’m gonna miss you, too.”

            They ate for a bit in silence until Hunk reappeared. Keith stayed over at the Sonic until the last of the half hour he’d allotted was gone and he came back and ordered them all off the side of the truck so he could fill it up at one of the pumps. Then they all piled back into the car and started off, Lance sipping on the remnants of his requested blue slush.

            “How much longer?” he asked as Keith restarted the car, and—just as he’d suspected—jazz came out of the speakers. It was different from before, a sultry female voice singing along with the music.

            “Seven hours,” Keith replied.

            “Why didn’t you put _this_ on to begin with?” Hunk asked, buckling in. “This sounds pretty good.”

            As if his purpose in life was to be spiteful, Keith hit the button for the radio. His little trick backfired on him, though, when “Havana” was playing again and Lance let out an excited cry of, “ _Ooo!_ ” and cranked up the volume. Whatever anyone else might have been about to say was lost under Camila Cabello—and Lance singing along.

 

Lance was glued to the window for the rest of the drive. Everything was so _pretty_ —especially going over San Francisco Bay. Loved a good bay, Lance. He fell asleep a few more times as the sun set and the night wore on. Sitting in a car for upwards of fifteen hours was surprisingly exhausting. He went out like a light somewhere around Eureka and didn’t wake up again until they reached Crescent City. The clock said twelve oh six.

            “Are we here?” he asked.

            Keith, ever a man of brevity, responded, “Yup.”

            He’d even backed up their trailer in line with the others.

            Keith collected his CDs from the player and the glovebox, reaching over Lance to get them. Then he got out of the truck and left without saying another word. Lance watched him walk away under the floodlights that illuminated the Carnival of Lions’ Crescent City fairgrounds.

            “We should find out which trailer is his and egg it,” Pidge said.

            “Not tonight, though, right?” Hunk asked with a yawn. “I just want to sleep in a bed…wait.”

            Pidge laughed. “If you think you can fit in the bottom bunk, I’ll trade you.”

            They disembarked the truck and left it behind, heading up the steps to their now-screen-door-less trailer. Pidge did the honors of unlocking it, and what they found inside was a mess.

            The entire contents of Lance’s duffel bag were strewn across the floor.

            “Oops,” Pidge said.

            “What happened? Did a raccoon get in?” Hunk asked, gingerly stepping around some scattered toiletries.

            “Um…not exactly,” Pidge replied. “When we were looking for the keys after the door ripped off, I opened your bag to look for your copies…and I looks like I forgot to zip it shut.”

            So the motion of the trailer had upended the bag and sent everything flying, then rolling around for who-knows-how-long since they’d been on the road. The lid to his shampoo bottle had come off, spilling onto Lance’s extra t-shirts, which were also all over the floor.

            “Great,” he grumbled.

            “Sorry,” Pidge grimaced.

            Shaking his head with a sigh, Lance bent to collect his stuff. “That’s okay. I lost us a screen door. This is nothing.”

            Hunk called dibs on the bathroom and brushed his teeth before falling asleep immediately on the pullout couch outside of his sleeping bag. Lance was still rinsing his shirts off in the kitchenette sink, so Pidge went next. When she came out she paused in the bathroom doorway to give Lance a smile.

            “It’ll get better, I promise.”

            Lance just nodded as she climbed into her bunk and snuggled into her sleeping bag. It took him half an hour to get the shampoo out of his clothes and get the clothes hung up to dry, and another forty-five minutes beyond that to figure out how to execute his nightly skincare routine in the pint-sized bathroom. By the time he emerged, Pidge and Hunk had entered Stage Three sleep. Quiet as he could, Lance scrambled into the top bunk—nearly impossible without any footholds—and rolled onto his back.

            He’d left the damn light on.

            Grumbling, he climbed down, hit the switch, and climbed back up, not as mindful of Pidge this time and using her mattress as a booster.

            Then, in the dark by himself, staring at the ceiling of the trailer, he suddenly realized that this was the first day of the rest of his summer. That at the end of that summer, Pidge and Hunk would leave to go to college. That he was eight hundred and fifty miles away from his family. That he didn’t have anything in his future to look forward to—not school, not a job, just an endless black _nothing_.

            Lance bit his lip, his nose crinkling, but he was determined not to cry. He let his breath out slow. Then sighed.

            “I’ve made a huge mistake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAH! What is UP, Voltron family? I'm so excited to finally throw my fanfic spaghetti at this wall!
> 
> This is my first time ever writing for Voltron, so if you liked it LET ME KNOW! Leave me some comments, or a kudos, or whatever suits your fancy. Those always encourage me to update faster!
> 
> A few notes - I have absolutely no idea if this business will wind up being fifteen chapters, could be more, so don't hold me to that number. Also, the rating may change to Mature at some point in the future, so be aware of that.
> 
> Bless, my lovelies! I can't wait to share the rest of this story with you!


	2. A Tiny Kingdom at the Bottom of the Trees

Lance was already awake—hadn’t slept, really—when somebody approached the trailer, creaked up the steps, then said, “What happened to the storm door?” It sounded like Shiro.

            Another, softer voice responded, but Lance couldn’t make out the words through the wall. He rolled over, waiting for the inevitable knock.

            It came.

            Neither Hunk nor Pidge stirred.

            Shiro knocked again.

            Still those two chumps stayed in the sleep of the dead. Or the about-to-be.

            When Shiro knocked a third time, Lance sat bolt upright, wadded up his shirt—which he’d inexplicably shed in the middle of the night, probably because it was _ridiculously_ hot in the trailer—and hurled it across the room, shouting, “Hunk! Get the door!”

            The shirt landed uselessly on the floor a good two feet from the edge of Hunk’s bed, but the shout did the trick, and the guy turned over, mumbling groggily. Shiro, encouraged by the confirmation that there was at least one live, sentient human being in the trailer, said through the wood and metal, “Morning, Trailer Six! The breakfast line is up and running, and we’ve got an orientation meeting in an hour. That’s all. Don’t worry about the door.”

            “Answering it, or the fact that it’s missing?” Pidge grumbled underneath Lance.

            But Shiro didn’t hear her, of course, and just squeaked back down the stairs, talking with that softer voice as the two of them moved away.

            “Did he say breakfast?” Hunk asked with a yawn.

            Lance swung his legs down and let them dangle over the side of the bunk. “Yeah.”

            “Gross, get your feet away from my area,” Pidge complained.

            “Get your area away from my feet,” Lance replied.

            She stuck her head out to send a scowl up at him, which was an oversight on her part, because all it did was provide him with an opportunity. Lance put his foot right on her face. This, as it turned out, was an oversight on _his_ part, because she shrieked, grabbed his ankle in both hands and _pulled_.

            Lance tumbled from the bunk, slamming his hands into the wall to catch his fall. He barely managed to land on his feet and promptly turned to give Pidge a fierce glare.

            “You brought that upon yourself,” she said.

            “What do you think they’ll serve for breakfast?” Hunk asked. He got to his feet, stretched, then turned around to arrange his sleeping bag like he was making a bed. “Continental? A cereal bar? Ooh, do you think they’ll have those waffle machines with the batter dispensers?”

            “It’s our first day in a new location, so I doubt it will be anything hot,” Pidge said. She scooched by Lance to go to the bathroom and grab her glasses. “The kitchen staff probably doesn’t have anything set up yet.”

            “Ah, you underestimate the power of a good cook,” Hunk replied with a grin. “ _Man_ , it’s hot in here. Mind if I open the door?”

            Lance shook his head, and Pidge said, “Go ahead,” so Hunk swung the door open and let the cool air of the Northern California morning flow in.  He poked his head out into the sunshine and breathed in deep.

            “It smells amazing.”

            “Food amazing?” Pidge asked.

            “No, like fresh amazing. I don’t think we’re too far from the ocean. And there’s, like, _trees_.” He glanced down his front at the somewhat rumpled clothing he’d slept in, shrugged, and stepped out the door. “I’m gonna scout out the breakfast options,” he said. “Meet you guys there.”

            “Okay,” Pidge called after him, collecting a set of clothes and going into the bathroom to change. When she came back out, she looked at Lance. “Sleep all right?” she asked.

            Lance shook his head. “Not really.”

            Together the two of them finished getting ready—or rather, Pidge sat and waited while _Lance_ finished getting ready—then left the trailer. Outside, the air _was_ fresh like Hunk had said, and it did smell pretty amazing. Like salty ocean spray mixed with—

            “Are those Redwoods?”

            Not too far away, at the edge of the fairgrounds was a forest. The trees at the front were regular size, but behind them, deeper in, they grew taller. Lance hadn’t thought he would get to see Redwoods this early, if at all, and holy crow they smelled good. Like nothing he’d ever smelled before—earth and decay and fog and, well, _Redwoods._ There really wasn’t any other word for it.

            Pidge hopped down from the trailer and adjusted her glasses on her nose. “Looks like it,” she said. “That might even be the State Park.”

            “ _Cool._ ”

            Maybe the mistake wasn’t so huge after all.

            They found Hunk at a pavilion full of picnic tables, a whole line of which had been set up like a buffet with chafing dishes and everything. The spread was massive—bacon, sausage, pancakes, biscuits, like five different kinds of eggs. Lance and Pidge filled up their plates, then joined Hunk at his table and dug in.

            “I stand corrected on the hot food,” Pidge said, going to town on a waffle.

            “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” said a voice from behind them, and Lance turned with a mouth full of scrambled egg to find Allura, her white hair gathered up into a bun on top of her head. She smiled. “Mind if I join you?”

            “Please,” Lance said, spraying egg from his mouth, which he tried and failed to catch.

            “Smooth,” Pidge said, her eyes flat.

            Allura just laughed, thankfully missing Lance’s blush as she walked around to the other side of the picnic table and climbed in next to Hunk. She spread a napkin on her lap and started into a stack of pancakes in a way that was somehow both elegant and efficient. “Did you all sleep well?”

            “Yeah, great,” Lance said, and Pidge opened her mouth to contradict him, so he smacked her knee under the table. She fell silent, but not without a scowl.

            “Wonderful,” Allura said with a smile that turned into something close to pity. “Keith told me about your storm door, and I’m very sorry to hear it. The trailers can become quite hot. You won’t be able to keep the bugs out should you decide to leave the door open.”

            “What _exactly_ did Keith say about the door?” Pidge asked.

            Lance smacked her again, but she just smacked him back—twice as hard.

            “Only that it was loose and was blown free on the motorway.” Allura glanced between Lance and Pidge. “Why? Was something else the matter?”

            “No, no, nothing,” Lance interjected. “That’s definitely the truth.”

            Hunk raised his eyebrows, an incredulous expression on his face that said, “Totally not suspicious at all, man.” Lance pursed his lips in response and gave him a subtle shrug. Mostly he’d been trying to beat Pidge to the punch. And Allura let the subject drop, so at least he’d been successful.

            “We always try to have a big meal the first day we arrive in a new city,” Allura said. “Everyone needs lots of energy to get the fairgrounds set.”

            Now that she’d called his attention to it, Lance could hear a couple of distant trucks and cherry pickers, beeping and hammering, like the permanent staff had already gotten started doing just that. He glanced around, but the fairgrounds themselves must have been on the side of the pavilion that was walled in because he couldn’t see the carnival beginning to take shape, just the trailers and private area for the staff.

            “When will we open?” Hunk asked.

            “By tomorrow evening, if all goes according to schedule,” Allura said. She’d moved through her meal with remarkable speed, already nearly finished eating. “It’ll be a tough first day, but I’m sure you’re all more than capable.” Like that, her food was gone and she got up. “Thank you for allowing me to sit with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have plenty of duties to attend to. I’ll see you at orientation.”

            She offered a smile at each of them in turn, then departed. Lance watched her leave until Pidge waved a hand in front of his face.

            “I wasn’t staring!”

            “Dude, you have _got_ to work on sounding more convincing,” Hunk said.

            “He can’t,” Pidge replied. “That’s his hamartia.”

            “My _what_ now?”

            “Hamartia. Your tragic flaw.” She put a couple of grapes in her mouth and chewed as she spoke. “The character trait that ultimately leads to your downfall. Didn’t you ever read Aristotle’s _Poetics?_ ”

            “You’re _supposed_ to be a science nerd,” Lance said, shoving her sideways so her short arms wouldn’t reach when he stole the rest of her grapes.

            “I agree with Pidge, man,” Hunk put in. “Like I can totally see you in front of a council of elders or a witch or a bunch of harpies or something and you’ve gotta profess your innocence, but you just sound really insincere and they end up banishing you or putting a curse on your family.”

            “Hunk, what the _hell?_ ”

            Pidge gave up struggling against Lance. “Dark,” she said.

            Hunk shrugged. “I like tragedy.”

            “Which would explain your total lack of a nighttime routine,” Lance replied.

            Pidge managed to snatch the grapes back, but before she could eat them, Shiro arrived at their table and knocked on the wood as a greeting.

            “Hey, there. Glad to see you up.” He smiled, and it was unfair how good he looked when he did. “We’re gonna start orientation right here in the next little while, but you can keep eating, so no worries.” He counted three packets from the stack of papers in his arms and set them on the table. “Just the essentials.” With another smile, Shiro moved on to the next table.

            Squinting, Lance kept an eye on the guy’s back.

            “What’s that look for?” Hunk asked, picking up one of the packets and flipping through.

            “Nothing,” Lance replied.

            “He’s always suspicious of beautiful people,” Pidge said.   

            “I am _not!_ ”

            “ _Sincerity_ , man.” Hunk looked up from the packet and shook his head. “Work on it.”

 

Orientation for the most part was a lot of boring—but admittedly useful—information about how the carnival ran and what staff expectations were, coupled with the usual to-do about sexual harassment and safety procedures and all the other workplace mumbo jumbo that came with every new job. Shiro stood at the front of the pavilion and went over the packet. Lance only half paid attention, more interested in watching the food people clean up the buffet behind them.

            “You’ll have two consecutive days off each week,” Shiro was saying. “I write the schedule, so if any of you want the same days, let me know and I’ll make it happen. On work days you’ll each have one eight hour shift, with an hour break after the first four for lunch. If you want to work the same _shift_ as someone else, I can try to accommodate those requests as well, but I can’t make any promises.”

            “Let’s ask for Tuesdays and Wednesdays,” Pidge whispered—to Hunk, really, because Lance was focused on how quickly the caterers could extinguish the chafing dish fuel. “That way, because it’s not a weekend, it’ll be more likely for all three of us to get those days off.”

            “And none of the tourist stuff in town will be busy,” Hunk said.

            The two of them low-fived over the table.

            “Now that all the housekeeping is out of the way, we’ll introduce you to our team leaders.” Shiro looked to his left and nodded to cue a group of people standing off to the side. They joined him at the front—Coran, Allura, and Keith among them.

            “ _That_ guy is a team leader?” Lance said, probably louder than he should have because a few people at other tables turned to look at him. “What? You didn’t spent fifteen plus hours in the car with him yesterday. Terrible people skills.”

            “You’re one to talk,” Pidge supplied.

            Lance glared at her, but didn’t have time to retort because Shiro passed Coran the mic and the guy practically blew out the speakers by shouting into it.

            “ _Goooooood morning, Vietnam!_ ”

            Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and everyone, really, covered their ears.

            “Welcome to the Carnival of Lions—Crescent City, official day one! My name is Coran. I believe I met most of you yesterday.” He scanned the crowed, eyes narrowed, lips pursed beneath his moustache. “Yes, yes. You’re all looking _wonderful_ this morning. I’m your head honcho, in charge of major operations. I like long walks on the beach, and—”

            Allura took the microphone out of his hands. “Thank you, uncle.” She smiled at the group. “I am Allura. The junior operations manager. I’m in charge of marketing and PR, so some of you will be working quite closely with me over the next few months.”

            “Is that us?” Lance asked, leaning over to Pidge. “Are we on marketing?”  
            “Of course not, dummy.”

            He scowled at her as Allura passed the microphone to Shiro.

            “Hey, I’m Shiro, as you all know. I’m your senior staff manager, so basically your representation on the leadership team. If you have any problems, or need anything, I’m your guy.” He passed off to Keith. Lance bristled immediately.

            “I’m Keith,” he said, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I’m the amusement rides team leader. Self-explanatory.” He shrugged, then offered the microphone to the girl next to him.

            “What did I say?” Lance said, folding his arms. “No people skills.”

            “Dude, chill.”  

            Hunk shook his head to punctuate the statement, so Pidge covered Lance’s mouth to keep him from replying. Lance leaned forward and put his folded arms on the table so he could rest his chin and look sufficiently pouty. But he did figure it was probably best to just shut up and sit through the rest of the introductions.

            There were only a few other people on the leadership team. The girl next to Keith was in charge of the ticket office, the girl next to her the shy games. Then a guy for the food stalls, and two more people, but Lance tuned out after that. He didn’t tune back in until he heard Shiro say his name.

            “Huh? What?”

            “He’s giving out set-up assignments,” Pidge said. “You’re on the rides.”

            “ _What?_ ”

            “Be quiet, man, I’m listening for my name,” Hunk scolded.

            Thankfully, Shiro read Hunk’s name next, which meant he was on the rides team, too. Shiro rattled off a few more, then looked up from his list.

            “And that’s everyone,” he said. “We’re going to need to get started right away, so go ahead and clean up your places and meet your team leaders over by the fairgrounds. Thanks, everybody.”

            People applauded for some reason, and the group at the pavilion broke up, everyone standing and carrying their plates and cups to the garbage bins. Hunk collected their table’s stuff and started to get up as well. Lance grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down to the bench. Hunk landed with a thud.

            “We’re not seriously going to be on that guy’s team all day, are we?”

            “I mean, I don’t have a problem with it,” Hunk replied. “I think it’ll be kind of cool to see how all the mechanics fit together.”

            “But Keith’s—”

            Lance cut himself off when he noticed Pidge grinning sinfully across the table at him, her chin propped up in her hands.

            “Keith’s what?” she drawled.

            “Nothing, a jerk, I don’t know. What team are _you_ on?”

            “The shy games,” she answered, sitting up.

            “How’d you escape ride duty?”        

            “Um, I’m tiny?”

            “Yeah, perfect for crawling into tight spaces and fixing loose screws.”

            “I think you’ve got a few loose screws yourself, Lance,” Pidge replied. She got up from the table and took the paper plates and things from Hunk. “I’ll see you guys at lunch.”

            With that, she was gone. Hunk looked at Lance, his eyebrows raised, waiting for a cue. Sighing, Lance swung his legs out of the bench and got to his feet. He shoved his hands into his pockets and waited while Hunk freed himself to follow. Together, they started toward the fairgrounds, around the back of the pavilion like Lance had guessed.

            “I swear, if we have this job every time, I’m gonna go _loco_ crazy,” he said.

            “Crazy crazy?”

            “Yes, Hunk. Crazy crazy.”

            Ahead of them, still a good distance off, everyone was pooling in groups along a chain link fence. In the field beyond, all those trucks and trailers from the parking lot in San Diego that had held the dismantled pieces of the carnival were gathered, some of them parked, others dropping off their loads and heading out. Some stuff was already set up—the office, a few ticket booths, some tents, and a ride or two. Keith was waiting at the fence, his arms folded across his chest, with a relatively small group composed of people who looked like they could lift. Apparently Lance and Hunk were the last to arrive.

            “Right, so, we’ll make this easy,” Keith said as they came up behind the others. “Rico and Anthony, I want you guys on the chair-o-plane and the music express like last year. When you finish, just come find me.”

            He picked up a cardboard box at his feet and tossed it toward the group. It was full of work gloves. Rico and Anthony—apparently—grabbed their pairs and headed through an opening in the chain link.

            “Romelle, why don’t you and Vicente take the Viking ship and the tilt-a-whirl? Once you’re done, meet Marcus at the space shot. He could probably use the extra hands.”

            Romelle and Vicente picked out some gloves and headed off, too.

            “The rest of you are new this summer, so you’ll have to be trained,” Keith said, casting his eyes over the remainder of his group. “It’ll be easiest for the first couple of moves to assign you specific rides to put up and take down so you don’t have to learn a new procedure every time.”

            “Wait, so we’re _always_ gonna be the ride crew?” Lance asked, raising his hand.

            “Yup.”

            “No!” he cried, grabbing Hunk’s arm and sliding dramatically toward the grass. “ _Loco_ crazy!”

            Keith raised an eyebrow, but continued.

            “After today, next time we move, you guys will get to work on your rides as soon as we start the day. Don’t be stupid, though. If you forget what you’re doing, get one of the year-round staff to help you. Cool?”

            The group nodded, but it was _not_ cool.

            “Great.” Keith pulled his phone from the back of his black leggings, and, for the first time, Lance noticed that the carnival shirt he was wearing was cropped. He checked a note or something, reading off the screen. “Hunk, Amir, and Lacey, you’re gonna help Bill with his section. He’ll teach you what to do. Jose, Trevor, and Georgia, you’re with Killian. The rest of you are with me. Grab some gloves, I’ll show you where to go.”

            The group crowded toward the cardboard box like goats to a trough, but Lance wove around them to get to Keith. He was pulling on a pair of black, leather fingerless gloves of his own.

            “Did you say Lance in that first group?” Lance asked.

            “Nope. Lacey.”

            “Who’s _Lacey?_ ”

            A blonde girl standing right behind him raised her hand.

            “Oh, sorry.” He turned back to Keith. “What, so I’m with you?”

            “Looks like it.”

            Lance opened his mouth, but Keith gave him a glare that snapped it shut.

            “Is that a problem?” Keith asked.

            “Nope, no. Nooope. All good. Totally good.” Lance put up his hands, then took a step backwards. “I’ll get some gloves now.”

            “Great.”

            Lance met Hunk at the box and fished out a pair of gloves. “I think this guy hates me.”

            “You haven’t exactly been cordial yourself,” Hunk replied. “Hey, Keith? Do you have any of these in a bigger size?” He held up his hand, a glove smashed halfway on as far as it would go.

            “Yeah, Bill should have a pair you can borrow,” Keith called back.

            “Thanks, man.” Hunk looked back at Lance and found him scowling. “What?”

            “Fraternizing with the enemy.”

            “He’s not the enemy. He’s kind of in charge.”

            “ _Loco_ crazy, Hunk,” Lance replied. “ _Loco crazy_.”

 

Thirty minutes’ worth of a safety lecture later, Lance split from Hunk and followed Keith and four other guys to the far end of the fairground at the back of the rides where three semitrailers were parked side by side. Keith tied his hair into a stubby ponytail as they went.

            “This is the Ferris wheel,” he said as they approached, gesturing to what looked at the moment to be just a bunch of flat metal pieces in a massive stack. Flat metal with colored lightbulbs stuck to it.

            “How long will it take to set up?” Lance asked.

            “Like eight hours.”

            “ _Seriously?_ ”

            Keith ignored him. “We’re gonna winch the support legs, then go from there.” He grabbed onto a rod sticking out of the stack on the nearest trailer and hauled himself up, then spent a second digging around. Bizarrely, he pulled out a bottle of sunblock. “Anybody?” he asked, holding it up and looking to the group.   

            “Cuban,” Lance replied and pointed at himself. “Comes built in.”

            One of the other guys on the crew put his hand up for it, so Keith tossed the bottle down. They passed it around and tried to look manly as they put it on and didn’t ask for help applying it to the backs of their necks and shoulders. Folding his arms across his chest, Lance approached the semitrailer and looked up at Keith.

            “Is this really gonna take eight hours?”

            “We’ve got the biggest traveling Ferris wheel in the state.”

            “Oh, okay, Billy Mays. Thanks for the sales pitch. That really answers my question.”

            Keith narrowed his eyes. “Since you don’t have any experience, it might take longer.”

            “And who picked me for the team?”  
            “Um…here’s your sunblock…” the last guy to have the bottle interjected, inching forward to hold it up to Keith.

            “Toss it in the grass,” Keith replied. He took his phone from the back of his leggings and chucked it next to where the dude set the sunscreen, and Lance nearly had a heart attack watching it hit the ground. “Everybody up.”

            Keith disappeared behind the stack of metal, and Lance was forced to be the first to follow since he was closest to the trailer.

            To his credit, Keith was pretty good at explaining exactly what he wanted each of them to do, but Lance figured it probably came from being a perfectionist control freak, so the slow, detailed instructions only annoyed him. It really did take four hours to get all three support legs into the air then attached to each other in a triangle over the semitrailers. All the bits with the colored lights stuck on made up the actual wheel part, and hung down in a cluster from the spindle at the point of the triangle. Keith said they’d take care of that after lunch.

            Everybody was sweating up a storm as the group dissolved. It wasn’t hot, especially compared to San Diego, but it _was_ hard work, and they’d been in the sun the whole time. As Lance grabbed the hem of his sleeve to wipe his upper lip, he noticed that the part of his arm exposed to the sun was already a darker shade than what was under the sleeve. He groaned.

            “Oh _man_.”

            “What?” Keith asked, hopping off the trailer behind him and going to retrieve his phone.

            “I’m gonna get the stupidest tan lines from this godawful shirt,” Lance complained.

            “Should have taken me up on the sunscreen,” Keith said. He gave Lance a spiteful grin, then tucked his phone into his pants and walked away.

            Lance glared at his back the whole way to the pavilion.

            Pidge and Hunk were already there, and Hunk was talking Pidge’s ear off about putting together the stupid Gravitron. His eyes lit up when Lance slid into the picnic table next to him, a premade sub and a bag of chips in hand.

            “What are _you_ guys setting up?” Hunk asked.

            “The Ferris wheel,” Lance replied.

            If Hunk’s eyes had lit up before, they turned into freaking fireworks at that little tidbit.

            “The _Ferris wheel?_ ” He said it with reverence.

            “Yeah, it sucks. Look at this tan line.” Lance pushed up his sleeve to show them.

            “You could put on sunblock,” Pidge said, and for the first time Lance really looked at her and finally noticed she was wearing the most ridiculous hat he had ever seen. Like African safari meets fly fisherman mixed with weird-uncle-who-gardens.

            “What the hell is on your head?”

            “A hat.”

            “Does it have a little chin strap, Indiana Jones?”

            The way Pidge’s face struck red with embarrassment was a signal for yes. Lance laughed.

            “Where on earth did you get that?”

            “The team leader for the shy games let me borrow it,” Pidge grumped, taking it off and running a hand through her sweaty hair, though that didn’t do much to tame it. “I’m like an ant under a magnifying glass out there.”

            “‘You could put on sunblock,’” Lance replied in a mocking voice, making a puppet with his hand to go along.

            In response, Pidge thumped a giant bottle of SPF 100 sunscreen on the table in between them.

            “Wow,” Lance said. “Is that street legal?”

            “Hardy har har,” Pidge replied, rolling her eyes and squirting a little of the lotion into her hands to rub on her face even though they were in the shade. Hunk and Lance both watched with interest.

            “If it’s even possible, I think that stuff just made you _paler_ ,” Hunk observed. Pidge shot him a glare.

            “Sucked the sun right out,” Lance agreed.

            “Maybe you should put it on your arms then.”

            She meant it as a jab, but the idea actually sounded pretty good to Lance, so he grabbed the bottle and did exactly that. Lunch ended too soon, and he was forced to part ways with Hunk and Pidge shortly thereafter, but mooched a little extra sunblock off the latter before begrudgingly returning to the fairgrounds and the Ferris wheel.  And Keith.

            The dude put them to work right away building out all the spokes for the wheel one at a time, first on the right side, then on the left. Everybody got sweaty all over again. Halfway through, that Romelle girl showed up.

            “Marcus was good with one, so I’m here to help you,” she said to Keith, climbing onto what now comprised the boarding platform without even a hint of hesitation.

            “Cool,” Keith replied, and she fell into line like she’d assembled hundreds of Ferris wheels in her lifetime.

            “Did you ever finish that film you were working on last summer?” she asked Keith as they worked.

            “I did, yeah,” Keith replied.

            “I’d love to see it. Do you have it? We should do a screening.”

            Keith locked the piece of the spoke into place and the guys hopped in to tighten screws and get ready to rotate the wheel. Not Lance, though. He was too busy giving Keith the stink eye.

            “I have it,” Keith said with a nod. “You can watch it if you want, but I don’t think we should subject the whole fairground to it.”

            Romelle laughed, and Lance intervened.

            “Wait, so—what? You made a movie?”

            Keith looked at him, his dark eyes wide, eyebrows raised, hair sweaty and pulled back into that bitty ponytail, stupid crop top lifted above the line of his leggings since his arms were over his head, and it was probably sunstroke or something, but Lance’s heart pinched.

            “It’s not really a movie,” Keith said. He dropped his arms and the guys rotated the wheel so they could add the next spoke on the other side. “It’s like an art piece.”

            “And here I thought Thelonious Monk was pretentious.”

            Romelle piped in with another laugh. “His stuff is actually pretty cool,” she said, smiling at Lance, which he did not appreciate. “You should watch it with us.”

            Lance looked at Keith, and Keith shrugged.

            “If you want,” he said.

            “Sure,” Lance replied through his teeth.

 

It took every second of Keith’s estimated eight hours to get the damn Ferris wheel put together, and by six o’clock, they were attaching the last gondola into place. Again, for some reason, the crew applauded. They did seem like the type to clap when a plane landed, though.

            “Thanks, guys,” Keith said, hopping down over the side of the boarding platform even though there were stairs now. “We’ll meet after breakfast tomorrow and finish the rest of the rides.”

            Again, the group disbanded, and Romelle walked away with Keith, the two of them chatting about Keith’s lame-o movie. Lance made his way to trailer six. All he wanted was a shower and a nap. And dinner. Dinner would be nice, too.

            The trailer was empty when he got there, so he opened up all the windows to let some air flow through, propped the front door open for good measure. He’d forgotten how fantastic things smelled away from the fairgrounds, which currently had a distinct aroma of exhaust and machine oil. A breeze blew down from the forest and pushed through the trailer, briefly replacing the musty 70s scent with pine and Redwood.

            The window over the kitchen sink had a nice view of the trees, and through the front door, Lance could see the Carnival of Lions since their trailer was on the end. It’d be pretty cool at night, when all the colored lights would turn on—a funky little outer-space-themed kingdom at the edge of the forest.

            He changed out of his sticky carnival t-shirt and took a shower, pulled a sweatshirt on after because it was actually pretty cool out, then left to find Hunk and Pidge.

            They were at the pavilion for dinner, and Hunk wanted all the details on putting together the Ferris wheel. Wouldn’t shut up the whole meal about what a great day he’d had. Pidge looked pretty pleased herself, mostly because she’d managed not to get sunburned. They ate, and Lance stayed subdued. He didn’t feel much like talking. He wasn’t sure why.

            Towards the end of the meal, Coran got up and delivered a report on the carnival’s progress for the day. He seemed pretty pleased, tutting and clucking through the whole thing. They’d met their set-up goal for the day—good news for a new team, he said—and the fairgrounds were on track to open by tomorrow evening.

            “It’ll be a long day,” he said, raising a single finger. “Since you’ll all have to work evening shifts staffing the carnival after we open—but! It _will._ _Be._ _Worth_ it!”

            “He should give a TED talk,” Pidge mumbled.

            “All right, everyone,” Coran continued. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your meal—”

            People took that as a cue to leave, but it was far from. Coran chirped into the microphone, “Ah, ah, ah! Nobody’s going anywhere until we’ve done some _trust falls!_ ”

 

Coran’s creepy team building exercises actually ended up being kind of fun. The sun set during their forced participation, and as the night went from cool to chilly, the staff parted ways, some of them with a pat on the back from Coran himself. Hunk, Pidge, and Lance returned to their trailer where Pidge showered. Lance wanted to go back out and talk to people, but Pidge complained that it was too cold with wet hair, and Hunk was literally already asleep, so Lance grumped himself down the trailer steps on his own, shoved his hands into his sweatshirt pocket, and wandered.

            He didn’t find anybody until he was a good distance down the line of trailers when some music reached his ears, and he rounded the corner into a surprising amount of light. It was coming from a fifth-wheel travel trailer that looked even _older_ than trailer six, but was in pretty good shape. The curtains were pulled open on all its windows, and somebody had hung a bunch of string lights from the awning that stuck off the side. Underneath that awning was Shiro in a beach chair, his feet propped up on a crate, a bottle of something in one hand. A decent amount of the other teens on the staff were standing around inside the trailer or gathered at various points around it. Looked like a party.

            “Hey, Lance,” Shiro said, and Lance started, surprised the guy had remembered his name. “How’s it going?”

            Lance approached, encouraged by the friendly greeting, and sat in the camping chair Shiro reached over to pull up for him.

            “Want one?” Shiro asked, holding up the bottle in his hand and raising his eyebrows. Lance was about to say no, until he saw that it was IBC root beer, not, like, actual beer.

            “Yeah. Thank you.”

            Shiro leaned over the armrest of the beach chair and reached for a cooler. He seemed to have kind of a hard time with it for whatever reason, but dug a bottle out of the ice for Lance and passed it over. Lance got a good look at the sleeve of subtly colorful ink that covered the guy’s arm when he did. It was a pretty rad design—koi fish and Japanese flowers and a dragon and waves.

            “Cool tattoo,” Lance said, pulling his hand into his sweatshirt sleeve to wipe off the root beer bottle so it wouldn’t slip as he opened it.

            Shiro glanced at his arm like he needed reminding that the tattoo was even there, then smiled. “Thanks.”

            “Did it hurt?” He had always heard that tattoos hurt.

            “Oh, yeah, definitely,” Shiro laughed. “Scar tissue is a lot more sensitive, so I could only sit for an hour or so at a time. It took forever to finish.”

            Lance raised an eyebrow. “Scar tissue?”

            The question was mildly insensitive, but Shiro just smiled. He seemed like the kind of guy you couldn’t ruffle even if you tried. Lance wondered if he’d ever been annoyed with anybody in his entire life.

            “I busted it up pretty good my second year here,” he said, raising the arm in question and wiggling his fingers, though they didn’t really move. “Crazy, one-in-a-million thing with the Ferris wheel.” Smiling still, he flicked his finger along the scar that ran under his eyes and bridged his nose. “Same accident.”

            “Wait—the _Ferris wheel?_ ”

            “Shiro.”

            Both Lance and Shiro turned at the voice. It was Keith, standing at one of the open trailer windows that looked like it belonged to the kitchenette.   

            “We’re out of ice,” he said.

            Lance bristled—certain the guy had overheard their conversation and wanted to keep the dangerous secrets of the apparently arm-crushing Ferris wheel good and buried—but Shiro just kept on smiling.

            “There’s plenty in the cooler out here,” he called back.

            “Okay.”

            Keith slinked away from the window and appeared at the trailer door a second later, a assortment of different sized glasses in his arms. He went to the cooler and started scooping ice into each of the cups, which was a massive breech of proper party etiquette, putting ice from a cooler into a glass you were going to _drink_ from, but at least he didn’t pick up the cubes with his hands. He’d changed clothes—an oversize sweater that hung loose around his shoulders.

            “What?” he asked.

            Lance started, not realizing until that moment that he’d been staring.

            “Nothing,” he said and took a sip of his root beer. “Just glad mine’s already cold.”

            Keith narrowed his eyes, collected his glasses, and went back inside like he owned the place. He and Shiro must have been roommates.

            The party gradually grew in size as more and more of the other employees realized it was going on. Pretty soon people were milling in and out of the trailer, going to their own for camping chairs and stuff to set up under the awning. Some kid came back with a guitar he’d brought, but it was massively out of tune. Two seconds of listening to him fiddle with the pegs, and Lance stuck his hand out.

            “Gimme.”

            Startled, the guy passed it over. Lance started to tune it for him.

            “Every Acid Dealer Gets Busted Eventually,” he said.

            The kid just stared at him. “Wh-what?”

            “Every Acid Dealer Gets Busted Eventually,” Lance repeated. “It’s an acronym, or whatever. You know, for the order of the strings.” It took a hot second because the guitar was so bad and he didn’t have a reference tone, but his pitch was pretty good, so Lance passed back an instrument that sounded worlds better than it had before. “Here.”

            The kid plucked a few hesitant notes, then his face lit up.

            “Wow, it sounds _great_ ,” he said and gave it a couple more strums. “Thanks, man.”

            Lance shrugged, happy to help. “Sure.”

            “Do you play?” Shiro asked, smiling—as ever—over at Lance.

            “Yeah, for ages,” Lance replied. “My whole family does. My brother Marco is way better than me, though.”

            “Play something!” somebody shouted through the kitchenette window—Romelle, who grinned before disappearing from the window and reappearing outside. She came eagerly over to the circle of chairs. A reluctant Keith followed in her wake. The kid offered his instrument to Lance.

            “Nah, man, it’s your guitar. You play first.”

            He shook his head, smiled. “You did all the work.”

            So Lance took the guitar from him and had to squirm around on the camping chair to get into a decent position to actually play. He looked around the group, then up at Romelle.

            “Any requests?”

            His eyes fell on Keith.

            “But not from you, Mr. Dissonance.”

            Keith scowled at him, folding his arms across his chest looking like he was ready to issue a challenge. Which he was.

            “‘Havana,’” he said.

            A little titter of approval went up throughout the gathered group, and Romelle went to sit on the cooler, taking Keith with her. Lance kept his eye on the guy as he moved.

            “Cruel,” he said once they were seated.

            “ _Can_ you play ‘Havana’?” Romelle asked.

            “Oh, for sure.”

            “Then play!”

            Lance glanced around the circle, and they all nodded, so he figured why the hell not, adjusting his position all over again. He cleared his throat, then looked at Keith.

            “This one’s for you, old man.”

            And he played.

            Lance had loved the song from the first time he’d heard it—like _loved_ loved. All his siblings had been obsessed with it. He and Marco had spent hours learning the chords and crafting an acoustic version they could play on the guitar. And while Marco might have been a better guitar player, Lance had a better voice.

            So he sang, too, which surprised the group at first, but they were into it. Romelle started singing along, and by the chorus most everyone in the circle had joined in.

            Lance got lost. That happened to him occasionally when he played, usually if he had a high-energy group to feed off. And that group was super energized—kids at the start of a summer of freedom away from home. They were there for it, and Lance lived in that song for a little while.

            Then, as he returned to reality, his eyes fell on Keith. And Keith was staring at him. Like _staring_ staring. His eyes were all lit up under the string lights, his sweater slouched down one shoulder, and he was he was—Lance didn’t know—blushing? It was kind of dark, so he couldn’t really tell, but the expression on the guy’s face made Lance blush himself. He passed the guitar to the kid it belonged to and huddled back in his seat, trying to disappear a little bit. Everybody applauded.

            “You’re really good,” Shiro said.

            “Thanks,” Lance muttered, but the praise just made him blush all over again, and he didn’t want to hang around longer to let more people say nice things and continue to stoke the embarrassment fire, so he got up, saying, “I’ve actually gotta get back. Pidge and Hunk are probably wondering where I am. Thanks for letting me play.” He pulled the hood up on his sweatshirt, shoved his hands into the pocket, and walked away from the trailer as quickly as he could, leaving everyone behind.

            Once he was clear of the light, Lance let his breath out, collapsing against the side of another trailer around which he’d disappeared.

            “Ooh, boy,” he said and looked up at the stars. “I think I’m in trouble.”

 


	3. Underneath the Swinging Lights

 

The problem with parties—actually, there were about a thousand problems Keith could think of—but the _biggest_ one, at least at the moment, was the amount of dishes they generated. So many dishes. _Too many dishes_ , and he was washing them all, a pyramid of glasses stacked expertly on the drying rack, when Shiro came out of his room, scratching his stomach.

            “Morning,” he said with a yawn. His signature pitying Shiro smile followed once he saw what Keith was up to. “You didn’t have to do that.”

            “I did, actually, if I wanted the kitchen to—I don’t know—function?”

            He rinsed a glass and added it to the stack. Shiro chuckled.

            “Thanks for being such a good sport about the party,” he said.

            “’S fine,” Keith replied, starting another glass. “It was nice to catch up with Romelle.”

            They’d been fast friends the summer before when Romelle had been assigned to Keith’s team. He hadn’t seen her—or talked to her really—since then. He wasn’t great at social media. Or friends.

            “Yeah, I bet it was.” Shiro cleared a place at the breakfast nook as he slid in, then nodded his thanks as Keith handed him a cup of coffee. “It looks like we’ve got a great group this year.”

            Keith nodded, but there was something in the way Shiro said it, something in the spark behind his eyes and the smile on his mouth as Keith looked his direction, an eyebrow raised at the tone. Both were a spark and a smile Keith recognized immediately and wanted nothing to do with. He left the question unasked because he already had his answer. And he wasn’t keen on talking about any of it.

            “I guess,” he said and returned to the dishes.

            “That Lance guy is on the rides with you, isn’t he?” Shiro asked, though he knew perfectly well that Lance was. “He could really play.”

            “Don’t, Shiro.”

            Keith couldn’t look up from the soap suds as he said it, but he felt Shiro’s eyes on his face. Shiro was perceptive, and he knew Keith well, probably better than anybody, so he’d be able to tell he wasn’t joking. The imperative had been firm, but painfully quiet. More than sincere. So Shiro, being Shiro, let the subject drop.

            “What are you going to do with your afternoon off?” he asked.

            Shrugging, Keith balanced another glass on the pyramid. He’d forgotten it was Tuesday.

            “The beach maybe,” he replied.

            It wouldn’t be a true day off, so he wouldn’t be able to go far. He’d work four hours in the morning, then have the rest of the afternoon along with anybody else who had Tuesdays free, and be back in the evening for a shift in the fairgrounds. The schedule was always screwy right after a move. He was glad he wasn’t the one who had to write it.

            “Sounds nice,” Shiro said.

            “You could give yourself a day or two, you know,” Keith replied.

            Shiro laughed. “Well, you know what they say…”

            Keith looked up from the sink, a legitimate smile on his face, as together they chimed, “‘Once a carny, always a carny.’”

 

Unsurprisingly, most of Keith’s team was late arriving to their meeting point to begin the day. _Surprisingly_ , Lance and Hunk were not among them—beat Keith there as a matter of fact. Keith chalked that up to Hunk, however, as Lance looked only semi-functional, slumped against the fairground fence, the strings of the hood on his sweatshirt cinched tight around his face so only his nose was visible, while Hunk offered a cheery smile and a wave.

            “What’s on the menu today, boss?” he asked.

            Keith couldn’t help a slight smile. The guy was too nice. Technically speaking, Keith wasn’t anyone’s boss. He made more per hour because he was a permanent employee and had been with the carnival for a while, but beyond that, he and Hunk were basically peers. Keith simply had more responsibilities.

            “We’ll finish up the rides,” he said. “Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”

            On the ground, Lance groaned. He shifted his face so his mouth poked out of the hole where his nose had been.

            “ _Loco_ crazy,” he whispered. 

            Hunk offered an apologetic smile. “He didn’t sleep very well.”

            “Hot?” Keith asked, knowing the response would push a few of Lance’s buttons. And it did. He swept his hood off his head to give Keith a glare, mouth in a pout, eyes narrowed. Keith smirked. “Too bad you can’t leave your door open.”

            “I tried. Pidge yelled at me.”

            “Raccoons,” Hunk said as though that was an explanation.

            Romelle was the next to arrive, yawning and tying her hair into a pair of pigtails. She smiled at Keith, then Lance and Hunk in turn.

            “You give him an earful when he got in last night?” she asked Hunk with a chuckle.

            Hunk blinked at her. “What?”

            “Lance,” Romelle replied. “He said you would wonder where he was.”

            The clarification did nothing for Hunk’s confusion. “ _What?_ ”

            “Sorry. I was trying to make an overprotective parent joke, and it didn’t land. Ignore me, ignore me.” She tossed her hand as she apologized, laughing again though this time she sounded embarrassed. Hunk turned to Lance, asking for an explanation with his puzzled expression, but Lance had retreated into his hood and cinched the drawstrings tight again.

 

Eventually, the rest of the crew decided to show up. Keith walked into the fairgrounds and distributed them among the remaining rides. The other permanent staff members on the team had already gotten to work, so if all went according to plan, and nobody did anything dumb, they would definitely finish on time to open that night. He made sure to put Lance on the same sub-crew as Hunk. The last thing he needed was another day of his complaining. Or being around the guy in general.

            Keith knew himself well enough to know that that would have been a mistake.

            “Keith?”

            He looked up, looked at Romelle. The two of them were halfway through setting up the carnival’s fireball ride. He couldn’t remember getting started.

            “Did you hear what I said?” she asked.

            Keith shook his head. “No. Sorry.”

            She laughed. She’d worked with him all last summer. She was at least familiar with his tendency to dissociate. “A couple of the girls in my trailer were interested in watching your film,” she said, “so I invited them. I hope you don’t mind.”

            He shrugged. “Do they know what it’s about?”

            “That’s why I want them to watch it,” Romelle replied. “They keep asking me to introduce you to them.”

            She gave Keith a knowing smile. He couldn’t help returning one, though his eyes did flick to the metal platform under his feet after the contact.

            “Keith?”

            He looked up.

            “ _Is_ that okay?”

            He smiled. “Of course, Romelle.”

            Her expression of concern softened into a smile as well. “Good. Would you pass me that wrench?”

 

There were a few rides left to assemble when Keith’s allotted four hours ended, but the crew would be able to handle it. He made a brief stop by his trailer to change into a pair of shorts and put together a bag to take down to the beach. iPod Classic, water bottle, Canon and tripod and a couple of extra SD cards and batteries. He stuffed a sweater into the bag as well, in case it was cold by the water.

            Crescent City was small. And quiet. By far the smallest, quietest city on the carnival’s circuit, but it was a good place to start the summer. So far north it was more Oregon than California. Keith liked Crescent City, liked the beach it was named for. Liked how the Redwoods almost came up to meet the ocean.

            He took his time walking out to that beach. Took his time listening to the waves and the gulls while he set up his camera. Farther down, where the land curved into the water, a low haze shrouded the hills of the Del Norte coast. He settled his tripod in the sand, trained the camera across the beach, those hills at the back, and started recording. He didn’t know what this new thing was going to be about. And that was never good—to start making something without having an end-game, any semblance of a plan, or even anything to _say_. But there he was.

            He’d felt so—he didn’t know—lost lately, but not even lost. Apathetic, really. Like a piece of driftwood when the tide comes in and pulls it back out to sea. Floating. Aimless.

            _God,_ he was dramatic.

            Keith snorted softly and smiled, shaking his head at himself.

            The haze might look interesting on a time lapse, so he made sure the camera was stable and the shot was good—checked the battery and all that—then shook his sweater out of his bag, folded it up, and put it under his head so he could lie down in the sand and shut his eyes.

            It was peaceful for a moment, then he caught a couple voices over the wind coming off the water.

            “For crying out loud! The beach is _right_ there, Lance. How could you miss it?”

            Oh no.

            “I’m telling you, Google Maps did me dirty.”

            _No._

            “Wow, look at the view, though.”

            Please, god, no, anyone but those three.

            Their voices came closer—Lance and that girl with the bird name bickering over the accuracy of their walking directions, Hunk “oo”ing and “ah”ing at the beach for an underscore. Keith held still. Maybe if he didn’t move, they wouldn’t see him.

            Lance screamed.

            “There’s a dead body! A dead body! I knew it. Small town, dodgy folks. I bet this place is a dumping ground for—”

            “I’m not dead!”

            Lance screamed again.

            “Hey, Keith,” Hunk said.

            Keith finally opened his eyes, turning a little so he could angle his head to see the three of them. Upside down, they looked particularly ridiculous in their swimming suits. He smirked.

            “You know the water’s, like, fifty degrees, right?”

            “ _I’m_ not getting in,” the girl said, flexing her fingers straight and pressing them into her chest like she was a queen. “I just don’t like sand in my pockets.”

            “ _I_ don’t care what the temperature is,” Lance replied, equally haughty. “Come on, Hunk.”

            Hunk pursed his lips and looked less than pleased, but followed Lance in his strut down the beach toward the water. The girl—Pidge, that’s what her name was—took a towel from her bag, spread it out near Keith, and sat down. Making herself right at home, exactly like the truck. She started applying sunscreen from the biggest bottle Keith had probably ever seen.

            “Are you making something?” she asked, gesturing at his camera with her head.

            Keith shrugged, and the motion left an imprint in the sand.

            “I’m not sure yet,” he said.

            “Cryptic,” Pidge replied.

            “I don’t mean to be.”

            The answer startled them both. Keith unsure where it had come from or why he had been so honest with her, Pidge probably surprised he had said anything at all.

            “Lance mentioned you were a filmmaker.”

            “He did?”

            He couldn’t stop himself from angling his head to look back at her again. Pidge smiled, the corner of her mouth quirked up.

            “Well, he didn’t use the _word_ ‘filmmaker.’”

            Keith laughed. Genuinely. That surprised him as well.

            “What kind of stuff do you do?”

            Curious, Keith sat up and dusted off his hands. Pidge had scooted to the edge of her towel and dug her toes into the sand, her knees crooked up in front of her. She rested her chin on them and waited patiently for an answer. He almost had a hard time believing this was the same girl who had stuck a Twizzler in his face not two days ago. She was a lot less annoying with Lance at a distance.

            “It’s all pretty niche,” Keith said. “In the vein of stuff you’d see, like, at a contemporary art museum, not actual films with characters and a script and—I mean, I do usually shoot from a script, but—and it’s not, like, _art_ , or anything, that’s not what I meant when I said the thing about the museum—I—”

            He was only digging himself a hole. Pressing his lips into a line, Keith let a controlled breath out through his nose. Pidge chuckled, adjusting her glasses.

            “No, I follow,” she said. “What sort of themes?”

            “Small town America,” Keith replied. “Social structures and human landscapes. People, I guess. People are interesting. They…” He hesitated. “...confuse me.”

            Pidge flicked her toes out of the sand and nodded. “Me too,” she said. A smile crossed her mouth, but it turned sour as she shouted, “Lance—I _swear to god_ —if you come any closer to me, I will dump your toner down the bathroom sink!”

            Lance had been making a poor attempt to sneak up the beach, likely to grab Pidge and cart her off to drop in the ocean if her reaction was anything to go by, and he straightened up immediately, his mouth open like she’d slapped him.

            “You wouldn’t dare!”

            “You wanna test me?”

            “It’s _Korean!_ ”

            “All the more reason you should turn around and march your butt right back to the water.”

            Lance glared at her, but the expression lost most of its sting across the distance. Hunk had approached in the meantime, coming to a stop as Lance turned on his heel and stomped down the sand. Hunk put his hand in the air.

            “May I come up?”

            “Yes, Hunk. You may.”

            That put a little smile on his face, and he finished his trudge up the beach to where Keith and Pidge were sitting, careful to stay out of the frame on Keith’s camera. He plopped on the other two-thirds of Pidge’s towel, only wet up to his knees.

            “You were right, man. That water is _cold._ ”

            Keith smiled. “Told you.” Reflexively, he turned his gaze to the ocean where Lance was wading into the water, up to his waist by then and working deeper. “How long until _he_ gives up?”

            Pidge shook her head. “He won’t. He swims in San Diego year round.”

            Hunk laughed. “One time, in fifth grade, we convinced this girl—Hayley Coolidge—that Lance was actually a mermaid.”

            Pidge sucked in a deep breath, lighting up at the memory. “Oh—I remember that,” she said. “We told her he had to get in the ocean every couple of days or else he would die. Then he got knocked out with a sinus infection that February and missed like a week of class. She actually cried because she thought he was a goner.”

            They laughed, but Keith’s eye stayed trained on Lance as he continued to ease his way into the water. Up to his chest. Then he dipped under a wave. Resurfaced, dived under the next. He stroked easily out to sea, cutting through the water like they were one and the same.

            “Do you swim at all?”

            Keith looked at Hunk and found him smiling. He looked away, unused to the friendly contact.

            “I mean, I _can_ ,” he replied. “I don’t, like, love it or anything.”

            He settled back on his elbows, and his eye was drawn again to Lance. It was almost impossible to pick him out he’d gone so far into the ocean—just a dot beyond the waves.

            “Does he have a wetsuit for the winter?” Keith asked.

            “Probably,” Pidge replied. “But he doesn’t wear it.”

            “He’s kind of a nut,” Hunk put in.

            Keith snorted. “Shocking.”

            The two of them exchanged looks, as Keith noticed out of the corner of his eye, but they didn’t say anything. Simply smiled. Silence settled over the group after that. Not exactly awkward, but not exactly comfortable either. Keith fiddled with his camera to give himself something to do. Before too long, Lance reappeared in the surf and waded out of the water. Miserable bastard didn’t even have the decency to _look_ cold. Dripping, he approached the group and stuck his face into the camera.

            “Is this on?” he asked.

            “Yup,” Keith replied.

            Much to his surprise, Lance winked and blew a kiss at the lens before moving out of frame. Most people acted shy or embarrassed when they found out they were on camera. Wanted the footage deleted, or laughed in their discomfort. But Lance sat down in the sand in front of Pidge and Hunk, next to the camera, and leaned back into frame with a grin on his face. He angled his face toward the sun.

            “Just improving your shot, old man,” he said.

            Pidge tried to kick him, but he caught her foot midair and twisted her leg. She turned over with a squawk, scrambled after her towel to avoid the sand, wiggled to get free of Lance’s grasp. Hunk was distracted by the display, leaning to keep out of reach of Pidge’s hands. Keith was grateful. None of them had noticed him blush.

            “Let go, you cretin,” Pidge hissed. Her body went limp as she gave up.

            “What’s the magic word?” Lance asked. By then, he had her whole leg in what looked like a headlock.

            “ _Please_ let go of my leg, you cretin?”

            Lance clicked his tongue, but released her. He lay down in the sand, his head to the water, let his long, long legs extend toward the Redwoods. “We need to work on your manners, young lady.”

            She stuck her tongue out at him as she righted herself.

            “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he said, and then in an exaggerated antebellum accent, “None uh yuh gentlemen calluhs will wanna come to yuh cotillion.” 

            “I hope your death is slow and painful,” Pidge replied.

            Lance sat up and started saying something else that started with, “Well, I do declare—” but Keith stopped listening. He looked at Hunk instead.

            “How can you stand them?” he asked.

            Hunk simply smiled. Shrugged. “Somebody has to.”

            But Keith was left bewildered as Lance wrestled Pidge into a fireman’s carry and hauled her kicking and screaming down the beach to dump her in the water.

 

The Carnival of Lions was set to open at six. Back at his trailer, Keith put away his camera and bag. He was kneeling by the bed in his little room above the hitch when Shiro came in from outside. He leaned against the open doorframe and smiled.

            “How was the beach?”

            “Noisy,” Keith replied, thinking of the earful Pidge had given Lance after the stunt he’d pulled. He pushed the plastic storage container with his camera stuff in it back under the bed and stood up. “How were things here?”

            Shiro let a long breath out his nose. “The wifi was down until around three thirty, so Allura’s only just finishing booting up the computers.”

            “Jeeze,” Keith replied.

            “Then we had a couple kids fainting with sunstroke, and the fryer for the corndog stand was missing one of its legs. Half the staff didn’t understand the schedule I put out, or missed it entirely.” He laughed. “It’s been a crisis and a half.”

            “I’m sorry,” Keith said, grabbing his black and white striped carnival tee with the logo on the back and changing into it.

            Shiro shook his head. “Not your fault.”

            Still, Keith offered a sympathetic smile. Shiro returned it, then moved out of the way as Keith headed from his room to the kitchen to get his boots out of the shoe cupboard. He sat in the breakfast nook to put them on and noticed all the dishes he’d washed had been put away. He shook his head, bemused. Even in a crisis. Shiro was something else.

            “Thanks,” he said and motioned with his chin at the empty dishrack.

            “Hm?” Shiro followed the gesture, then smiled. “Oh. Nah. You shouldn’t have had to do them.”

            “Well, I wasn’t dealing with a crisis and a half,” Keith said. He finished with his boots and rose. “You ready?”

            Shiro grabbed his nametag off the counter and said, “Yeah. Came back for this.”

            “ _You’ve_ been walking around without your nametag?” Keith laughed. “There really must have been a crisis.”

            Chuckling, Shiro shook his head as they left the trailer together. Keith unclipped his own nametag from his keys and put it on. They walked to the fairgrounds where a growing crowd was visible, gathering around the ticket booths. That was part of the reason Keith liked small towns. Even on a Tuesday, people turned up when the carnival arrived. And they’d keep turning up until it left. He and Shiro passed through the staff-only gate. On the other side, Shiro pulled a list from his back pocket and handed it to Keith.

            “Best I could do in a pinch,” he said.

            Keith unfolded the paper and looked it over. The schedule for ride operators. It actually looked okay, but Shiro was a pro. That is, it looked okay until Keith saw who was supposed to train Lance on the chair-o-plane. Then it was un-okay.

            But when he looked up from the paper to say something, Shiro was gone.

            “Rat bastard,” Keith said through his teeth. “Rat _bastard_.”

 

Lance was sitting on the edge of the loading platform for the chair-o-plane when Keith arrived, looking no less pleased about the arrangement. He had the sleeves of his red and white striped staff tee rolled up, his chin propped in his hands, elbows on his knees.

            “Tan lines?” Keith asked, gesturing at the sleeves.

            “Pidge axed my toner,” Lance replied. Not an answer to the question. His eyes stared blankly at the grass at his feet. Like he was remembering some fresh horror.

            “She did warn you,” Keith said.

             He hopped onto the platform and went to the control booth to start the ride and run a safety check. Sighing, Lance got up and followed.

            “Brand new bottle of Beauty Water,” he muttered. “ _Brand_ new. Thirty dollars down the drain.”

            Keith glanced over his shoulder as he unlocked the booth. “Christ, _thirty_ dollars?”

            “You don’t understand, man,” Lance replied. “Now I’m missing step four of the routine.”

            “ _What routine?_ ”

            “Korean skincare!” Lance threw his hands in the air. “Ever heard of Korea?”

             Keith laughed outright. “I’m Korean.”

             That caught Lance off-guard. He blinked. Then lowered his hands.

            “Oh,” he said.

            “My mom was from Busan,” Keith continued. “I’ve never been.” He stepped into the booth, stuck a key in the control panel and turned it on. The chair-o-plane’s lights flickered to life, but they were hard to see in the sun. All around them, the engines on the other rides rumbled and puttered, prepping for their own checks.

            Lance hummed. “So that’s why your skin’s, like, perfect.”

            Startled, eyes wide, Keith looked to Lance in surprise. Lance saw the effect the comment had had, but he didn’t try to backtrack. He shrugged instead, settling one hand on his hip and gesturing with the other.

            “Good genes, man. There’s a reason people use the Korean routine.”

            Keith opened his mouth, but he didn’t have anything to say. So nothing came out.

            “Aren’t you supposed to train me or something?”

            Keith’s mouth snapped shut. He flicked his attention back to the control panel. Cleared his throat. It was then that annoyance settled into his shoulders. Made him irritable, especially in the evening heat. Gritting his teeth—who did this guy think he was, anyway?—Keith turned from Lance and faced the control panel.

            “All the ride keys are stored in the office,” he said, “so you’ll have to pick it up if you’re the first person on the shift. They’re all labeled.”

            Lance came inside and got close to inspect the key. Keith leaned back, but in the small operator’s booth, there wasn’t anywhere for him to go. He clenched his jaw. No sense of personal space.

            “Is this the one that unlocks this little building thingy?” Lance asked, flicking the key attached to the one in the control panel.

            “Yup.”

            “Okay.”

            He shut up for the rest of the demonstration at least. Keith showed him how to run a safety check. How to start and stop the ride. How long to let it run. What to watch when it was in motion. What the lights on the control panel signaled.

            “If something malfunctions, radio an engineer.”

            “We have radios?”

            Keith retrieved the booth walkie-talkie from underneath the control panel. “This stays with the ride. Make sure you keep it on the charger.”

            Lance nodded. Keith stepped back from the panel.

            “Go ahead.”

            They traded places, and Lance spent a moment looking over the controls, a hand on his mouth. Keith folded his arms and leaned against the booth frame, waiting. It took Lance a moment, but when he did begin the safety check, he moved decisively, and with a unexpected amount of competence. All green lights. He looked at Keith.

            “That’s it?”

            Keith nodded. “For now. Once we get some customers in, I’ll go over the rest.”

 

By eight thirty, the sun had dipped low. It would set in the next half hour and let the carnival shine. Already the lights were more visible—all the flashing reds and greens and blues and yellows. The fairgrounds were busy. People buzzed around the tents and rides and carts. Keith made his rounds to check on his team, but he was stationed at the chair-o-plane thanks to Shiro, so he always had to circle back to Lance. Who, as it turned out, was an obnoxious natural.

            “Okay, flyers. We’ll be landing shortly in Crescent City.” His voice was loud, but tinny, over the ride’s speakers as Keith approached in time to hear the ridiculous flight attendant impression. “Please raise your tray tables and put your seat in the full upright position.”

            He got a few laughs out of the riders. And not out of courtesy. The chair-o-plane slowed, its swings gradually falling back toward the center, and soon came to a stop. Lance rang the bell, and they started unclipping their buckles to exit.

            “Thank you for flying Carnival of Lions Airlines. It has been our pleasure serving you today.”

            More laughs, unbelievably. Keith arrived at the booth in time to open the gate for the next round of riders. Lance stiffened like Keith had taken over his territory.

            “I got it,” he said.

            “I know,” Keith replied.

            He shut the gate behind him and went to check the next round of riders’ buckles on the swings. Gave Lance a thumbs up when they were clear. Lance didn’t say anything beyond the short, scripted safety speech this time, starting the ride up and letting it run. Keith returned to the booth.

            “No bonus content?” he teased.

            Lance glowered. “I’m running out of material.”

            “And it’s only day one.”

            Lance narrowed his eyes, which earned a smirk from Keith. He was beginning to understand why Pidge liked to pick so many bones with the guy. He was, well, _fun_ to irritate. Lance opened his mouth to retort, but was distracted when a group of girls at the front of the line hollered to get his attention.

            “Hey! Will you do one for our round?”

            Their leader grinned. The others giggled. The sound of it struck an immediate change in Lance. Like he became another person entirely, sloping his shoulders and offering a striking smile.

            “Sure, _chica._ Any requests?”

            The girl looked at her friends, eyebrows up. They shook their heads and shrugged, eventually looking back at Lance.

            “Surprise us!” the leader laughed.

            Lance clicked his tongue and made a finger gun. “You got it.”

            She smiled. Leaned against the fence. “I like your shirt.”

            Lance glanced down. “Thanks,” he said. “I was thinking I looked a little like Where’s Waldo.”

            “Waldo,” Keith said.

            Starting like he’d forgotten Keith was there, Lance looked back at him. “What?”

            “Waldo,” Keith said again. “The character’s name is Waldo.”

            “That’s what I said. ‘Where’s Waldo.’”

            “Oh my _god._ ”

            The ride time was up, so he ignored the bewildered glare Lance gave him and pushed into the booth to slow the ride to a stop.

            “Please wait until the ride has come to a complete stop to unbuckle your seatbelts,” he said into the microphone. “Enjoy the rest of your evening at the Carnival of Lions.”

            As soon as the ride had stopped, he rang the bell, and the process began all over again. This time it was Lance who went to open the gate, doing so with a sweeping bow to the girls he’d been flirting with. It made Keith’s throat constrict, and he hated himself for it.

            “You’re a rotten wingman,” Lance grumbled as he came back to the booth.

            “You gonna check the buckles?” Keith replied.

            “Nah, that’s your job now for cramping my style. I gotta do the announcement.”

            “Did you just say ‘ _cramping my style_ ’?”

            “Shut up.” Lance turned a little red and set his lips in a line. “Just do it.”

            Shaking his head, Keith left the booth, did the check. At the thumbs up, Lance came over the speakers with a sultry string of Spanish that sounded like something off a telenovela. Keith only heard because he was near them, but the girls tittered. He gritted his teeth, clearing the platform. Lance finished the scripted part of the instructions and started the ride. Keith didn’t go back to the booth. Leaned against the gate instead.

            He stayed there until sunset. Lance ran the controls while Keith checked belts. In the twilight, the full glory of the carnival became apparent—so many lights, too many lights. Before long, the sky was completely dark. Rider numbers always increased after the stars came out. That night was no exception.

            “Hey, how much longer are you guys here?”

            Keith turned and found the leader of that group of girls from before behind him at the front of the line.

            “We strike on Sunday night,” he said.

            “But you’re still open until eleven?”

            He nodded.

            “Okay, thanks.” She smiled at him, and her eyes passed briefly over Lance in the booth before she turned back to her friends.

            Keith decided it was a good time to make his team leader rounds.

            But he couldn’t invent a reason not to go back to the chair-o-plane by the end.

            So he went.

            He went, and he joined Lance in the booth. The ride was in the middle of a round. Neither of them spoke.

            “Did you wanna trade?” Lance asked after a moment. “I’ll do checks.”

            “Sure,” Keith replied.

            And that was it until it came time for Lance to leave the booth. He lingered.

            “Hey, man, sorry if I was rude earlier,” he said. “I guess I was embarrassed.

            Keith blinked at him. Lance had not struck him as the type to acknowledge a fault, much less apologize. He didn’t stick around to hear Keith’s reply, however. He ducked out of the booth a fraction of a second later, hurrying to the gate to let the next round board. Keith’s eyes stayed on him—on the smile he gave customers, on the cheery way his legs bounced him around the platform to check seatbelts. On the way the colored lights illuminated his face once the ride was spinning, passing shades of white and red and blue across his skin, already tan after only two days in the sun.

            Keith swallowed.

            “Don’t,” he said through his teeth, scolding himself this time.

 

Usually, Shiro threw some kind of social event every night of the first week with a new team, but the day had trashed him out. No party was perfectly fine with Keith. The two of them sat at the breakfast nook. Shiro nursed a beer. Keith reviewed the footage he’d shot that afternoon.

            “Anything good?” Shiro asked.

            Keith shrugged. “I’m not really sure what I’m trying to say.”

            “Shooting in search of a script?”

            Again, all Keith could do was shrug. He rolled back on a clip of some sea lions that he’d seen at the harbor after he’d left Lance and Pidge and Hunk at the beach. It wasn’t very good. He hadn’t been able to get close without scaring them off and hadn’t brought his zoom lens.

            “I think it’s great. Even if you’re not sure yet. It’s been a while since you shot anything at all.”

            Keith’s eyes flicked up to meet Shiro’s over his laptop screen. Shiro smiled.

            “It’s nice to see you with a camera in your hand again.”

            Saying nothing, Keith returned attention to the screen. Translation: it’s nice to see you feeling better. It’s nice to see you getting over it. He didn’t have it in him to tell Shiro that he wasn’t feeling better. Because he wasn’t _feeling_ anything at all. At least, that was the lie he fed himself. It was easier to feel nothing than to open the bottle of emotions and deal with the mess. But that didn’t mean the bottle didn’t exist.

            Truth be told, it hadn’t registered until Shiro had pointed it out that Keith _hadn’t_ filmed anything for the last four months. He looked up again.

            “I don’t feel inspired,” he said.

            Shiro sipped his beer. “It’ll come.” Another sip and the beer was gone. “I’m gonna turn in.” He tapped the table twice as he stood up. “See you tomorrow.”

            “See you,” Keith replied softly, distracted by thought as Shiro went into the bathroom and closed the door.

            Keith spent another minute or two combing through footage at the table, then rose to go to his room when Shiro went into his. The common space light was bright even under the door, and he didn’t want to keep him up. Gathering his laptop and mouse, he climbed onto his bed and shifted the pillows around to get comfortable. Put his headphones in. Then began to comb again.

            Seals. Waves. Haze. Beach. Lighthouse. Cars on Redwood Highway. Beach.

_“I’m not dead.”_

            The sound of his own voice on the clip startled him, then he recognized the framing. This was when Pidge and Hunk and Lance had shown up. The microphone wasn’t sensitive enough to have picked up their approach. He’d wanted to minimize the noise from the wind.

_“You know the water’s, like, fifty degrees, right?”_

            His own voice again, followed by muffled replies. A towel whipping. Then Pidge.

_“Are you making something?”_

            It was strange to listen to the conversations again, especially since all of them were out of frame. Beach and haze and hills and nothing else until Lance. His face in the camera.

_“Is this on?”_

_“Yup.”_

            The kiss and the wink, but this time Keith was the recipient, Lance’s eyes locked with the lens. Then he disappeared, back a moment later, reclining into the shot, the sun on his face and in his wet hair.

_“Just improving your shot, old man.”_

            That was when Pidge tried to kick him and the wrestling match ensued, but Keith hardly noticed. His heart beat quick and fast, his stomach tied into a knot. He sank a little deeper against the pillow he had propped between his back and the wall, pursing his lips together, his face warm. _Don’t,_ he tried to tell himself again, but he didn’t listen.

            He rolled the footage back.

_“Is this on?”_

            And back.

_“Is this on?”_

            And back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a little love if you like what you see. ;)


	4. You Can Watch It When You Get a Bit Older

Lance got up early and took himself down to the beach. He had always been a wee-hours riser, much to the pain of his parents on Christmas and birthdays—up at the crack of dawn already begging for presents. Even seven o’clock felt like sleeping in to him, and on top of that, he was restless.

            He had always been restless.

            The sky was overcast as he waded into the ocean, so the water was extra cold. The Restless™ was pretty strong that morning. He dove under the next wave and tried to let his brain turn off.

            The water was bracing—cold, but no worse than San Diego in the winter. As long as he kept moving, kept his muscles warm, he’d be fine, but he wouldn’t be able to stay in for long. That was asking for trouble, and the last thing he needed was a sinus infection in June. Still, the ocean curled so invitingly around him, silky and salty in its embrace. Lance lay back and floated for a bit, just bobbing along in the water.

            A thought drifted across his mind: _you just gonna beach rat around for the rest of your life?_

He frowned, brow furrowing, eyes shut. His mind shifted forward, but he couldn’t even imagine it. After August, after he left the carnival, all he could picture was that big, fat, hazy, black _nothing_ that had been tormenting him since January.

            No, no, no. Brain _off_.

            He turned a circle in the water, rolled over, and twisted to dip below the swells. The bottom wasn’t too far down, so he went to meet it and dig his toes in the thick, wet sand. Pushing off, he surfaced, drawing in a deep, but gentle, breath and waiting for the water to slide down his face before he opened his eyes, though he didn’t really mind the salt.

            But that Nothing was still there.

            The Restless was _still there_.

            Lance sucked an irritated breath through his teeth and dove again, deeper this time, after something—the bottom—but something else, too. He stayed down for as long as his lungs would let him, but the stab-y, burn-y pins and needles eventually demanded he go up for air. Gasping, Lance broke the surface of the water. He opened his eyes to that saline burn. It didn’t matter how deep he dove, he would never be able to go far enough to escape the truth. The real reason he’d missed deadlines for college applications.

            Not because he forgot.

            But because he was scared.

            With a sigh, Lance stroked closer to shore until he reached the point where the waves were breaking and he could stand up. Wind gusted over the water, searing his skin in goosebumps. He was quick to get to his towel and curl up underneath it.

            He sat on the sand and sniffed and looked at the water, towel over his head to keep him warm.

            He didn’t really _want_ to go to college. At least, he didn’t _think_ he did. He wasn’t cut out for it, but college was sort of what you did—it was the track, the path, the method, the way. What future was there for someone who didn’t want to and probably couldn’t even if he did? He didn’t know. What did he want to do instead? No clue. What did other people do? _Nada._

            Then Keith came to mind.

            The guy hadn’t even graduated _high school._ He had a full time job, one he seemed to like—well, Lance couldn’t be sure if Keith actually liked the job or not, given how irritable he’d been at their every encounter—but he must have enjoyed it, otherwise he wouldn’t have said so. Maybe Lance should talk to Keith. Pick his brain a little bit.

            And maybe Keith would bite his head off for even asking in the first place.

            Lance pursed his lips. He should get back to the fairgrounds.

            He pulled his sweatshirt over his head and slipped on his sandals, then made the easy trek inland at a slow pace. The whole coast seemed coated in a bank of haze that morning. Everything was grey and dull, like the color of the sky. When Lance made it back to trailer six, the door was open, and he was surprised to find Hunk awake, and not just awake, but cooking up a storm in the tiny kitchenette. Over on her bunk, Pidge still snored softly.

            “Hey, man,” Hunk said, smiling over his shoulder as Lance came up the steps.

            “Hey,” Lance replied. He leaned around Hunk and fished a strip of bacon out of the frying pan to put in his mouth. It was way too freaking hot, though, and he ended up dropping it on the counter en route.

            “Ow, jeeze!”

            Hunk laughed. “What did you expect?”

            Shrugging, Lance gingerly picked the bacon up and blew on it. “Where’d you get this stuff?”

            Hunk scooped the rest of the bacon from the pan and slid it onto a plate already full of eggs and hashbrowns and sausage. “I bribed one of the cooks,” he said. “I was on the funnel cake stand for the second half of my shift last night, and we got talking. He’s a pretty cool guy. You wanna wake up Pidge?”

            Lance shook his head. “Nah. I’d prefer to keep all my fingers.”

            “I can hear you.”

            That goblin materialized right at Lance’s side, and Lance shrieked, dropping the bacon. He glared at Pidge, but she didn’t have her glasses on, so she couldn’t see and just sort of ambiguously squinted at him in response.

            “Take a seat, everybody,” Hunk said.

            The two of them slid into the booth, and Hunk dropped off the eggs-bacon-sausage-hashbrowns plate at the table, then miraculously retrieved a German pancake from the miniature oven. He set that on the table, too, then stood for a second and cocked his head to the side, debating where to sit.

            “She’s smaller,” Lance said, pointing at Pidge.

            “He’s more annoying,” she replied.

            Lance went to kick her under the table, but hit his knee because his legs were too long.

            “ _Ow! Damn_ it!”

            Pidge snickered as Hunk squashed into the booth on her side. They ate family style, mostly for lack of plates. The food, per the usual, was fantastic. Hunk probably could have had got work in any kitchen he wanted, gone to culinary school or something, but he’d picked engineering instead. Smart _and_ skilled. Lance found himself frowning in spite of the good eats. With candidates like Hunk out there, it was a basic guarantee no school would want an applicant like Lance.

            “Wanna hike the Redwoods today?” Pidge asked, pulling him out of his spiral.

            “Huh? Oh, yeah, sure.”

            “There’s a trailhead nearby. We should probably head out before it gets too hot.”

            Lance nodded, and offered to do the dishes after the meal while Hunk and Pidge got ready. They were both so low maintenance, though, that he barely had time to finish before Pidge was pushing him out the door and Hunk was pressing a water bottle and a sandwich and a backpack of snacks into his hands. They seemed suspiciously well-prepared for having decided to hike a matter of minutes ago. He put the backpack on, hiked up the straps, and followed Pidge’s trail.

            “Am I everybody’s pack mule?” he asked.

            “Hunk made the food, and I packed it, so you get to carry it,” Pidge replied.

            “ _‘Get’_ to?”

            “You should be _honored_ to have the work of an expert gourmand so close to your general funk,” she said.

            Lance kicked the sole of her shoe as she walked, sending her foot farther into the air than she expected. Pidge took an extra big step and stumbled a little, mostly out of surprise. She whirled to glare at Lance. He offered a wry smile.

            “Sorry. My general funk slipped.”

            The trailhead was easy to find—or rather it was easy to follow Pidge while she led the way _to_ the trailhead.  Once they hit the tree line, a steady incline began and the atmosphere started to change. The grey sunlight filtered through a canopy of green and the world turned quiet, sound swallowed by the forest. Pidge rattled off some science comment about how Redwood bark was different and wasn’t as hospitable to bugs or whatever, so there were fewer birds and bug-eating wildlife. Lance didn’t really listen. He was too entranced by the lack of ambient sound—the usual rustling of leaves and calls of animals and buzz of insects missing entirely. As they moved deeper, the sounds of the road and the city behind them faded as well. Everything was still, saturated. Soon, the trees lining the path became older and taller, and older and taller, and even older and even taller the further they went. He missed Pidge’s lecture on Redwood growth, completely zoned out as he approached a tree and craned his neck back. He couldn’t see the top. The trunk at the base was maybe three times his wingspan. Reaching out a hand, Lance pressed against the rough, spongy bark. Jeeze, that _smell_. It was fantastic.

            “There are a few trees you can drive through, but I don’t know where they are,” Pidge was saying as Lance tuned back in. His mouth practically fell open at the news.

            “I wanna drive through a Redwood!”

            “You wanna try to talk Keith into taking a detour?” Pidge replied, a smug eyebrow raised above the other.

            Lance pursed his lips and managed to successfully stifle a blush. He took his hand from the tree and brushed it off. “I mean, no,” he said. “Not really.”

            “I doubt the trees you can drive through could fit the trailer,” Hunk commented. He had his neck cranked back as well, swiveling it around as he looked at the branches high above them.

            Lance narrowed his eyes. “I hate that stupid piece of junk.”

            Hunk chuckled. “I don’t think it’s overly fond of you, either.”

            “It’s a _trailer_ ,” Pidge replied, continuing down the trail. “It doesn’t have feelings. It isn’t sentient.”

            As they fell into step behind her, Lance leaned over to Hunk and loudly whispered, “When are we going to tell her she’s a machine?”

            “Your robot AI jokes stopped being funny about four years ago, Lance,” Pidge droned. She didn’t even bother to glance back.

            Lance looked at Hunk, and Hunk shrugged.

            “I don’t know,” he said. “They’re not all bad.”

            “Thanks, buddy.”

            Pidge groaned. “Don’t encourage him.”

            “I think we need to reset your humor level,” Lance replied.

            She turned to glare at him, and he timed another kick to the sole of her shoe, so she spun around, nearly twisting her ankle and almost tumbling to the dirt. When she caught her balance, she looked up at him with her jaw clenched to kill. Lance knew the expression all too well.

            He bolted.

            “Run, Hunk! The robots have finally turned against us!” Lance called, legs carrying him farther faster than Pidge ever had a hope of catching.

            “I’m good,” Hunk called back.

            “I will freaking _murder_ you, long shanks,” Pidge yelled. He could hear her short little legs scrambling over the trail behind him. Even with the awkward backpack, Lance was faster.

            “The hunter becomes the hunted!”

            “That doesn’t even _make sense!_ ”

            Grinning, Lance glanced over his shoulder to check Pidge’s progress and reached a break in the trees. The sun had burned off some of the haze by then, so the clearing was bright, and blinding, and Lance promptly wiped out, tripping over a fallen log he couldn’t see. Pidge, merciless per the usual, launched Sparta-style off the log and landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him.

            “The food! The food!” Lance gasped, breathless and trying to wrestle her off. “You’re crushing the food!”

            “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of my kill program running,” she growled, yanking his arm behind his back and planting a knee between his shoulders.

            “Uncle, uncle,” Lance cried, sucking in some dirt and coughing.

            “Come again, Jessica?”

            “You’re not a robot! You’re a real girl, the best girl. I love you, Pidge, have mercy.”

            She let out a satisfied huff and climbed off him, plopping in the dust, equally out of breath. Lance sat up and rubbed the arm she’d pulled on, spit to get the dirt out of his mouth. He was lucky she was small. Twenty more pounds and she could have knocked him out cold.

            “Why are you evil?” he asked.

            “Why are you an ass?”

            Lance nodded. “Touché.”

            “Are you guys okay?” Hunk asked as he appeared at the break in the trees at a slight jog.

            “Pidge tackled me.”

            “You _fell_.”

            “Yeah, and _then_ you tackled me.”

            Pidge sucked in an angry breath and glowered for the ages. Hunk just shook his head and chuckled as he approached.

            “Now, now, children,” he said.

            “If the food’s wrecked, it’s her fault,” Lance put in, letting Hunk help him to his feet. He tried to brush off his shirt and pants, but it didn’t do much good.

            “This one’s on you and the robot jokes, man,” Hunk replied. He offered a hand to Pidge as well. She started wiping her glasses clean once she was upright. “No question.”

            “If I had known the food was at risk, I never would have chanced it.”

            That nearly set Pidge on him again. She stepped forward, growling, rolling up her sleeves, but Hunk blocked her—one big arm out that she could barely peek over.

            It was then something a short distance away made a distinctly metal clattering sound, followed by a soft curse, and they all turned to find Keith of all people reaching to retrieve a tipped-over tripod. He was basically just a head in a swath of tall grass, almost impossible to see. Lance nearly had a heart attack—part instinctive fear, part sudden remembrance of the way the guy had looked under the string lights the other night.

            “How long have _you_ been there?!” Lance cried.

            “The whole time,” Keith grimaced. He delicately picked up the tripod, still trying to be quiet apparently.

            “ _Announce_ your _presence,_ man! Don’t just creep in the bushes like a serial killer.”

            “I was trying to leave!” Keith replied. His cheeks turned pink like he was deadly embarrassed. “You guys scared the shit out of me! I’ve been filming out here for, like, two hours and then you—I turned the camera off when you—I don’t know—you came out of the trees like goddamn _cryptids_ , okay? I didn’t want you to think, or, god—be—I wasn’t out here secretly filming you. I didn’t want you to think that, so I…tried…to…go.”

            By the time Keith’s fountain of word vomit dried up, Hunk and Pidge had apparently recovered from the shock of his being there at all.

            “Did you get the part where I jumped off the log?” Pidge asked.

            Keith’s gaze flicked to the ground, but he nodded.

            Her eyes lit up with wicked glee. “ _Show_ _me_.”

            She covered the distance between them in a snap, followed by Hunk who unhelpfully said, “Oo, I wanna see,” as he went with her. Lance stared mouth agape at the two of them. They were supposed to be _his_ friends.

            Keith reluctantly smoothed his sleeve over the screen on his camera and brought up the footage of the log-leap while Pidge scrambled her little raccoon hands all over his equipment to speed him along. As he pressed play, and Hunk and Pidge stared rapt at the tiny screen to watch the replay, Keith glanced over at Lance with a sympathetic frown. Lance’s heart thudded. The guy was _genuinely_ sorry he’d caught the incident in the first place. More so that he had to show it to them. Lance hadn’t expected that.

            Pidge cracked up. “Oh, oh, go back a little, go back a little,” she said, already doing it herself. “Watch, watch… _Bam!_ Oh, wow, this is amazing. You have to send this to me.”

            She tried to rewind again, but Keith had had enough of her hands on his stuff and tugged the camera out of reach.

            “Can’t,” he said. “I might use it for something.”

            “Like what? An AFV submission?”

            Keith went pink again. “No.”

            Pidge folded her arms. “You want this blurry footage of me tackling Lance for your art film?”

            The incredulous tone of her voice spelled out exactly how absurd she thought that idea was. Whatever Keith’s reply might have been, though, got trampled by Lance shouting, “So you _do_ admit you tackled me!”

            Pidge stuck her tongue out. “I admit nothing.”

            It was Lance who took a step forward and got blocked by Hunk this time. Hunk looked at Keith and tried to change the subject.

            “You don’t work today?” he asked.

            Keith shifted his weight and chewed his lip, looking like he wanted to leave. “No.”

            “So you copied us,” Lance said.

            That ticked Keith off for some reason. His eyes flashed as he turned to Lance and said, “I didn’t ‘copy’ anyone. I’ve had Tuesdays and Wednesdays off for two years.”

            Lance waved a hand. “Sure, stalker. Whatever you say.”

            The guy blushed _hard_ , face shifting from pink to red in an instant. His mouth opened, but he forced it shut, turned away from them, and grabbed a backpack out of the grass, which he slung over his shoulder as he started to slink away.

            “As good as guilty, I’d say,” Lance chuckled.

            Keith went stiff.

            “Oh, definitely,” Pidge put in.

            Keith stopped in his tracks.

            “Hey, man, you can hang with us if you want?” Hunk said. “There’s plenty of food.”

            Both Pidge and Lance shot Hunk an “Are you nuts?” facial expression at which Hunk just shrugged. Frozen, Keith adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I have to get back,” and left without even turning around. As soon as he was gone, Lance whirled and whacked Hunk across the arm.

            “What?” he replied. “You guys were being rude.”

            “He _came out of the bushes!_ ”

            “He was here before us!”

            Shaking his head, Lance returned to the trail and kept moving forward. He realized then that his heart rate had never really slowed, that it had just been hammering away in there since Keith had made an appearance. Lance cleared his throat. He swallowed. He pulled the backpack higher on his shoulders and tried to convince himself it was nothing.

            But, like everything else that morning, it didn’t really work.

            “You guys coming or what?” he called to Pidge and Hunk, glancing back just long enough to see them start but not long enough to see them follow.

 

They ate in the forest, and the food was still good in spite of being totally squished. The rest of the hike was trees, trees, trees, but Lance couldn’t get enough of them. He couldn’t imagine living so close to both the Redwoods and a beach.

            By the time they returned to the fairgrounds, it was well into the afternoon and all three of them were wiped out. Pidge had planned a long route, not really taking into account the fact that they’d worked late the night before and set up a freaking carnival the day before that. They were sweating to the core and walking past the front office, Pidge and Lance both filthy from their little scuffle in the dirt, when a spray of water landed playfully in front of their feet. Pidge jumped back, and all three of them looked up to find Romelle outside the office with a garden hose watering a bunch of planters that definitely hadn’t been there the day before.

            “Looked like you could use a cool-down,” she said with a smile.

            Lance dropped the backpack, took a few steps forward, spread his arms wide, and let his head fall back.

            “Crucify me,” he said.

            Laughing, Romelle put her thumb over the nozzle and nailed him right in the chest. The water was brutally cold, but it felt amazing. A little of the backsplash got on Pidge, and she dodged away, complaining.

            “I’ll take a hit,” Hunk said, stepping up beside Lance.

            Romelle turned the water on him, so Pidge got splashed again, and she grabbed the backpack, saying, “I’m going to shower like a _civilized_ individual,” as she walked away. Romelle jokingly pointed the hose at Pidge’s back, but had the good sense not to actually spray her.

            “Do it. I dare you,” Lance said.

            “This seems like kind of a random job,” Hunk commented. “When did we get flowers?”

            “They’re Coran’s,” Romelle replied. “He keeps the planters and buys new flowers at the beginning of the summer.” She sprayed Lance again when he gestured for her to do so. “I’m technically a floater, so I get all sorts of odd tasks.”

            “Let me get a drink from that,” Lance said and stepped toward her. Romelle held the nozzle a little higher so he could sip.

            “Gross, man.”

            “Hunk, a drink from the hose is a summertime _privilege_. Don’t even try to tell me it’s gross.”

            Hunk shook his head. “I don’t trust it.”

            “Then you can go get a bottled water from the food guys.”

            “Thank you, I will.” He nodded gallantly at Lance, then Romelle. “Thank you for the cool-down.”

            Romelle laughed. “You’re welcome.”

            Hunk left and Lance bent over to get another drink.

            “You know I could totally spray you in the face right now,” Romelle said.

            “Call it a trust exercise,” Lance replied.

            Romelle laughed. “Coran would love it.”

            Finished, Lance straightened and wiped his mouth off, ran a hand through his dripping hair. Romelle smiled and went back to the flowers, keeping her eye on him. The attention made Lance grin. She _was_ pretty cute.

            “Are you coming tonight?” she asked.

            “Sure,” he said with a nod. “To what?”

            Chuckling, Romelle went to the spigot and turned off the hose. “You said yes without knowing what I was talking about?”

            Lance shrugged. “I’m pretty easy to please.”

            “Or _eager_ to please.” She gave him a knowing grin, which he returned.

            “All right, you caught me.”

            Romelle coiled the hose and stretched her back. “We’re watching Keith’s film.”

            The regret was instantaneous and it was _strong_. Lance only just managed to cover the grimace his face pulled into automatically. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to watch Keith’s little arty-farty movie—part of him was actually morbidly curious, another part wanted to go so he could make fun of it later—it was more that seeing Keith’s movie would undoubtedly mean seeing _Keith._ And Lance was still a little wobbly on that front. Especially after their encounter that morning.

            “What time?” he asked, turning the grimace into a grim smile.

            “Like eight,” Romelle replied. “At Keith and Shiro’s trailer. You can bring your friends if you want?”

            “Hunk and Pidge? I doubt they’d be interested.”

            That was a patent lie. Pidge would want to see it for the same making-fun-of-later reason and Hunk was always down for whatever. Plus he’d tried to be nice to Keith earlier and would probably feel like he owed it to the guy as an apology or some nonsense.

            Romelle shrugged. “They’re more than welcome. We’re gonna try to do treats. Like popcorn and stuff.”

            “Sounds great.”

            It did not sound great.

            “I’ll see you then.”

            He wished she wouldn’t.

            “Bye.”

            They waved at each other as Lance walked away. He shoved his hands into his pockets and let his head tip backwards and his mouth open in a groan once he was out of sight.

            “Idiot, idiot, _idiot_.”

            He kicked himself all the way back to trailer six where Pidge was still in the shower and Hunk was gathering his shampoo and stuff into a plastic bag like he was going to go somewhere. He’d been so certain of his inability to fit in their shower that he hadn’t even bothered to put his toiletries in it. Lance raised his eyebrows in question at the bag.

            “I’m going to Shiro’s,” Hunk said.

            “ _What?_ ”

            He couldn’t go to _Shiro’s_ , what if Shiro invited him to the movie?

            “To use his big shower?” Hunk continued, trying to explain, but Lance didn’t want an explanation, he wanted Hunk to stay right where he was.

            “You can’t do that!” he cried.

            Hunk raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

            “Because—um—because, man. Germs.”

            “Germs?”

            “Yeah, like, you don’t know if he has, like, athlete’s foot or something. At least with me and Pidge you know what you’re getting.”

            Wrinkling his nose, Hunk shook his head. “I don’t think Shiro or Keith has athlete’s foot.”

            Lance had forgotten that the shower in question also got used by Keith, but he only let that thought exist for a millisecond before snipping, cutting, severing, _eviscerating_ every inch of it from the universe. Consequently, his mind was blank for a minute, and all he could get his mouth to say was, “But you _know_ Pidge and me don’t.”

            “Lance, stop being weird,” Pidge called through the bathroom door.

            “I’m not being weird!”

            “Look, man, I’ll wear my flip flops in the shower if you’re really that worried about it,” Hunk said, slipping the shoes in question onto his feet and then heading out the door before Lance could stop him. “Chill out.”

            Lance’s mouth opened, ready to yell, ready to say something— _anything_ —to keep Hunk from leaving, but diddly freaking squat came out. He just stood there, agape, as Hunk disappeared from view, the water in the shower shut off, and Pidge emerged, already changed into her pajamas even though it was like four o’clock, wearing her towel on her head.

            “I tried to leave some hot water for you,” she said.

            “Thanks,” Lance replied, his throat hoarse.

            Pidge went to her bunk and dug around in her bag, eventually unearthing a brush. She sat down on the mattress, folded her legs into a pretzel, and shook her hair out of the towel.

            “Are you okay?” she asked.

            “Huh? What? Yeah, fine. Totally fine.”

            “No, I mean, like, actually.”

            Lance looked at her and she had her eyes raised to him, mouth in a line, eyes solemn. It was the same look she’d had on her face in Hayward at the gas station—the “unspoken emotions” look. He and Pidge didn’t talk much about stuff like that: feelings and fears. That wasn’t what their friendship was based on. Lance could count on one hand the number of times he and Pidge had had a quote unquote “serious” discussion. When she’d been trying to decide if she wanted to take the Stanford scholarship. When they’d gotten into a legitimate fight over some dumb political thing neither of them had really understood at the time. When Lance had come out to her.

            He remembered that like it was five seconds ago.

            She’d been the first person he’d told. He didn’t know why he’d picked Pidge, but he hadn't really _picked_ her, it had just sort of come up organically and he’d been aching to tell someone—just to be _seen_ , you know? He’d been sitting on the bisexuality thing for months and months and months after he’d figured it out, and at first he’d sworn he’d never tell _anybody_ , but as he got more comfortable with it, kind of embraced it, he’d reached a point where he wanted to just, like, _shout_ it at people.

            He hadn’t shouted at Pidge. They’d been sitting on the trampoline in her backyard, killing time until it would get dark enough to watch a meteor shower, waiting for Matt to bring down his telescope, playing a dumb game the Holts had made up where you were supposed to share weird science trivia.

            Pidge had said, “Fun fact. Go.”

            And Lance, his heart beating so hard he could feel it in every vein in his body, said, “I’m bi.” 

            A beat of absolute, stifling silence. A swish of socks on trampoline mat as Pidge sat up.

            “Are you serious?”

            Lance had sat up, too, and nodded. “Yeah.”

            Pidge had been quiet for a minute, her brain processing behind her eyes, then she’d nodded—just a small nod, to herself—before looking at Lance.

            “Okay,” she’d said. “Tell me about it.”

            And she’d been the only one who knew for a while until Lance had finally told his family. Hunk still didn’t know. Neither did anyone at school. He didn’t hide it, but he didn’t feel that need to shout anymore, either. It was just one thing about him, a single piece of many, many hundreds. Part of him wanted to be out, like _out_ out, but part of him was scared to give people he didn’t really know the power to talk about that piece of him behind his back. Just another thing filed under “ _to freak out about_ ” at that moment in time.

            Lance drew a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slow.

            “I’m kinda overwhelmed, Pidge,” he said. He leaned back, falling against the bathroom doorframe. “I don’t know, just.” He shrugged. “A lot going on.”

            “Is it the carnival job?”

            “No, I mean, not specifically. The job is part of it, but…”

            How was he supposed to try to put that Nothing into words?

            On her bunk, Pidge flicked her eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry if I pushed you into it.”

            Lance looked up. “No, it’s not like that, Pidge. You didn’t push me. I _want_ to spend the summer with you guys. I don’t really care where we do it.”

            “For sure?”

            “For sure. It’s…the _end_ of the summer that’s…wigging me out.”

            Pidge nodded, her lips pursed. She understood. She was probably equally as wigged out by the end of the summer as he was, just for different reasons. He got so laser-focused on himself sometimes and forgot to take his me-me-me blinders off to look around him and see how other people were doing.

            “They’re showing a movie Keith made last summer at Shiro’s trailer tonight,” he said. “You wanna go and, like, Mystery Science Theater the crap out of it?”

            A grin flashed onto Pidge’s face. “Do you even have to ask?”

            Lance laughed. “It starts at eight. Romelle said they might do treats.”

            “Okay,” Pidge said with a nod. “We could walk into town and get something to bring?”

            “Sounds good to me. Can I shower first?”

            “No, Lance. You have to go to the store wet and sweaty and dirty, otherwise they won’t let you in. It’s the Northern California version of ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service.’”

            “No sweat, no wet, no get.”

            Pidge chuckled. “We’ll workshop it.”

            Smiling, Lance went into the bathroom. He stood for a second and smiled, feeling better, in spite of everything. He poked his head back out.

            “Pidge?”

            She looked up at him. “Yeah?”

            “Thanks.”

            She returned the smile. “You too.”

            They nodded at each other, and Lance shut the door behind him this time. Maybe they didn’t talk about serious stuff all that often. Maybe that wasn’t what their friendship was founded on. But that didn’t mean they didn’t understand.

 

Hunk came back from his shower adventure bearing news of the movie viewing, which Pidge and Lance already had, of course, but Pidge played it cool and let Hunk think it was the first she’d heard about it. When she brought up the idea of getting treats from the store again, Hunk insisted they leave right away so he would have enough time to make something.

            They showed up to Keith and Shiro’s trailer a little after eight with a massive bowl of salted caramel popcorn and another of chocolate dipped pretzels because Hunk didn’t know how to not.

            Romelle and Shiro were out front, messing with a projector under the awning. A few other girls Lance didn’t recognize had gathered in camping chairs nearby, and they looked over at their approach, but didn’t say anything. Romelle waved, her face lighting up.

            “You came!” Her eyes turned to the treats and went wide as she laughed. “Oh, wow. Gourmet. Those look amazing. Here.” She took the bowls from Hunk and set them on a nearby table that was spread with various other bowls and bags of things—chips, dip, Goldfish crackers, Skittles and M&Ms. “ _Thank_ you.”

            “Sure,” Hunk said with a smile. “Never show up to a party empty-handed.”

            “Not when you can make stuff like this,” Romelle replied. “I’m seriously impressed.”

            “How the _hell…_ ” Shiro grumbled, like five sets of cables in his hands. Heeding the call of tech, Pidge went immediately to help like she was magnetized.

            “Let me,” she said.

            Shiro allowed her to take over with a sheepish smile, and drifted toward the food table once he saw she had it handled. “Glad you guys could make it,” he said.

            “Anybody else coming?” Lance asked.

            Shrugging, Romelle smiled. “We’ll see.”

            A few more people arrived—some Lance recognized from the rides team like Vicente, Rico, and Anthony; others he knew from the party Shiro had hosted the other night. All of them had brought their chairs and started setting up around Pidge and the projector.

            “Hey, Shiro, what input are we plugging into this?” she asked.

            Shiro started. “Just Keith’s laptop?”

            “RGB or HDMI?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “What kind of computer does he have?”

            “A Mac?”

            “What _kind?_ ”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Does it have a USB port?”

            “Probably?”

            “Does he have a dongle for it?”

            Flustered, Shiro looked to Lance and Hunk and Romelle for help, but Keith arrived at the trailer then, holding aforementioned laptop in one hand. He came to a stop on the precipice of the group, shocked, it looked like, at how many people had showed up. His gaze fell on Lance and it felt like it lingered a little longer than it had on anyone else, but Lance wasn’t sure if he imagined it.

            “Keith,” Pidge said, drawing his attention. “Dongle?”

            He nodded, carefully worked his way through the crowd to pass the laptop off to Pidge. “I have an adaptor for it, yeah. USB to HDMI. I’ll go get it.”

            Pidge went to work finding a home for the laptop next to the projector without disturbing it, and Keith disappeared into the trailer. Shiro got Hunk his spare camping chair, the one Lance had been sitting in at the party and apologized that he didn’t have any more. Romelle moved her little gaggle of friends to where they could see the screen, and everybody scooped plates full of the spread on the treat table. Keith came back then, passed Pidge the adaptor cable, and bing-bang-boom, they were ready to go.

            Lance took a seat on the ground at the front and Pidge came to join him.

            “Welcome, everybody,” Romelle said once they were all settled. She stood in the projector light, but the screen was closed over it, so it was dim. “Thanks for coming. Um, last summer, Keith was making this film and we talked about it a lot, but I never got to see the finished product, so thank you, Keith, for indulging my selfish desire to watch it. Is there anything you wanna say?”

            Instinctively, the group turned to look at him. He shook his head.

            “Just that you all had fair warning.”

            Romelle and a few of the others laughed, then she stepped to the side, saying, “Without further ado—our feature presentation.”

            The screen slid open. The image projected was just solid white. Keith hit the space bar on his laptop and the thing started, staying white for a moment before displaying a title card in black text.

            _Say, Speak_

            Then in smaller font: _Keith Kogane_

            Back to white. The sound of a car pulling up, parking, shutting off, followed by the sound of the door opening, closing. Footsteps on rocks or asphalt. Then the first visual.

            Lance didn’t know why the dumb shot was so striking. It didn’t have any right to be. Black and white, the parking lot for what looked like the world’s oldest Von’s grocery store, a single, beat-up car in the lot. It was nighttime, and the lights in the parking lot buzzed. There was just this oppressive sense of finality to it. An atmosphere. And it went on for a long time.

            Music started in the background, just soft instrumental. As it grew in volume, Lance recognized the jazz influence, but it wasn’t dissonant like Monk or whoever.

            The shot changed. The Von’s in the daytime, parking lot busy, people and cars coming and going, pushing and unloading carts. The music continued to rise. Cut to a guy smoking around the back of the building, tobacco clouds billowing in the air.

            It continued like that for a minute or two. Shots of weeds growing out of cracks in the asphalt, men in jumpsuits unloading pallets of food from a semi, the front door sliding open and closed as people came in or out of the building. None of it was remarkable. All of it was just ordinary, regular, everyday type stuff, but something about the framing, the composition, the _feeling_ made it eerie. Made it fascinating.

            The music stopped abruptly as the shot switched back to nighttime. A silhouette was locking up the front door.

            Keith’s voice came in with a line of narration.

            “People say it’s okay to be gay…”

            The silhouette started walking toward the parking lot.

            “…as if I require their permission.”

            Cut to daytime, a train crossing a bridge and blasting its horn. Cut to close up on the train, camera focused on the tracks beneath its wheels. Cut to a group of kids playing in the river underneath the bridge, the train passing overhead.

            “People say I’m welcome to stay.”

            Nighttime. The bridge. Wind.

            “As if they have the right to refuse me.”

            The next sequence took place at a public park. It was day, but the place was deserted. Swings, wood chips, a seagull digging in the trash.

            “People say we’ve been given our way as if that erases years of aggression.”

            Night, a return of the music, a group of teenagers in a distant pavilion, drinking, laughing, being teenagers.

            “As if everything’s fine now.” A pause. “Which it’s not.” Another pause. “Better, but not fine.”

            The sky—clouds racing across it.

            “Speak.”

            A bowling alley. Balls in gutters, coming out of the return. Pins and strikes. Groups of people in league shirts gathered around their tables. Cheering. All of them frighteningly anonymous.

            “People say how the morals have swayed as if they haven’t been in flux for centuries.”     

            A bus stop in rapid time lapse from daybreak to deep night.

            “People say, ‘how far we have strayed.’ As if there was a path in the first place.”

            A highway. A group of people in coveralls picking up garbage under a supervisor’s watchful eye.

            “People say there’s a price we must pay as if they had paid one before us.”

            Back to the bowling alley.

            “As if being the default is hard.”

            An old man throws a strike in slow motion.

            “Which it’s not.”

            He turns to his league and they cheer.

            “Hard. But not harder.”

            Cut—the alley empty at night, its lights shutting off lane by lane.

            “Speak.”

            Then there was a long, long shot. An endless field and the sky with a fence and a road. Music. Voiceover.

            “People say things can’t be gray. As if anything was ever black and white.”

            A breeze curled through the field.

            “Speak.”

            With that final word, the shot snapped to color—a flash of blue and green and yellow and brown and white that turned the whole thing vibrant—then the screen went black.

            Lance sat there. Stunned. He’d gotten lost, caught up, swept away, and it took a second to gather his pieces and put them back together. People were clapping, so he shook himself out of it and clapped, too, looked at Pidge, who was nodding with vague approval. She didn’t seem to have been effected quite like he had, but…damn. He hadn’t expected it to be actively _good_.

            Much less for it to speak to him.

            The group hung around even after the movie was over, finishing off the food and eventually showing YouTube videos over the projector. As the party broke up, Hunk offered to help put stuff away and Pidge volunteered to take care of the projector. Lance sort of just stood in a daze, doing things whenever someone told him to, but otherwise still lost in the black and white world Keith had created.

            The next time he zoned back in, he and Keith were alone outside his trailer.

            Lance started.

            Hunk was inside. Pidge was returning the projector to the office. Romelle was with Hunk. So was Shiro. Keith shut his laptop and got up.

            Speak.

            “Hey, man…”

            Keith looked at him.

            “That was…amazing. I really liked it. And I’m not just saying that.”

            Keith stared at him. He stared for so long that Lance started to wonder what was going through his head, then got embarrassed and looked away.

            “Thank you,” Keith said.

            With that, he picked up his laptop and went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. Lay it on me!


	5. Turning into Black and White

Lance pretty much forgot how to run the chair-o-plane after having not touched it for a day. Lucky for him, admitting as much when he went to the office to pick up the key earned him a lesson from Allura. He could still smell her flowery perfume in the control booth even hours after she’d left. It was almost enough to distract him from thinking about Keith’s film.

            Almost.

            He’d been lost in it all morning—lost in the bowling alley and the park and the grocery store. In the way the music had made him unsettled somehow. The voiceover.

            It was a whole other reality Keith had uncovered, and Lance couldn’t help but feel like he’d peered into the guy’s insides a little. Most of Lance’s wondering was wondering about if the film was a reflection of how Keith’s brain operated all the time. What kind of mind did you have to have to see the world like that? Like art?

            “Thanks for flying with us. Please wait to unbuckle your seatbelts until the ride comes to a complete stop, and enjoy the rest of your day at the Carnival of Lions.”

            He was hardly aware of the words coming out of his mouth, much less the bell as he rang it once the chair-o-plane had stopped moving. The patrons disembarked the ride, and Lance left the booth to let the next group on. He counted absently, locked the gate by instinct, checked seatbelts with half a mind, returned to the booth, and rattled off the safety instructions before starting the ride all while thinking ceaselessly about the end of the movie—the part when everything had gone to color. He replayed that image in his head over and over again, replayed Keith’s voice along with it.

            “Speak.”

            “Speak.”

            “Speak.”

            “Hey! Waldo!”

            The shout pulled him out of his stupor, and he looked to find a girl in line for the chair-o-plane waving at him. He recognized her from Tuesday night, one of the ones he’d done the cheesy Spanish safety instructions for. She had a friend with her, but it was just the two of them. He couldn’t help a smile and a wave.

            “Hey,” he called. “How’s it going?”

            The girl nodded. “Good, thanks. You?”

            A weird sensation wormed through Lance—one of those ones where he felt like he should tell the truth (that he was _not_ very good) but he also felt like he shouldn’t (because this was a stranger). The force of proper social protocol pulled with equal but opposite strength against wanting to talk about how bizarre he felt. Proper social protocol won out.

            “Yeah, good.” He nodded, as if that would sell it. “Pretty good.”

            His shoulders shrugged of their own accord like they were trying to keep him honest. It was an obvious contradiction, but the girl didn’t seem to notice.

            “Good,” she said and grinned.

            It was time to bring the ride to a stop, so Lance gave the spiel and did the thing. When he went to let the next round of riders on, he noticed the particular look the girl and her friend gave him, and he knew at the back of his mind what their having come back to the carnival probably meant. He did respond with one of his winks, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Under the usual circumstances, Lance would have been over the moon at having someone flirt back. He threw a lot of spaghetti at that wall, and most of the time none of it stuck. Now it _had_ stuck, but he got caught up in the spaghetti metaphor wondering how Keith might frame a shot of that—a noodle on the wall in black and white.

            Jeeze, he needed to snap out of it.

            About midway through the ride, Vicente arrived at the booth to take over for Lance’s lunch break, and for the rest of the afternoon most likely, since Lance was scheduled to work the shy games with Pidge after that. He finished up the round, then relinquished the booth, and ran into the two girls on his way out.

            “Are you off?” the friendly one asked.

            “For lunch, yeah,” Lance replied, not thinking.

            “Yeah?”

            They exchanged expressions and a sudden pang of panic when through Lance’s chest. Not fun panic—the excited kind—but bad panic. The oh-no-what-do-I-do-how-do-I-get-out-of-this panic. Which wasn’t like him. It wasn’t like him _at all_.

            He was a flirt. And flirts did not get flustered.

            “Yeah,” he said and squashed the anxiety, hiding it under a smile. “Are you guys hungry? They do great food here.”

            He did not know that, and if his experience of other carnival food stalls was anything to go by, it was probably also untrue, but he was determined to regain control of _some_ aspect of his life, and frankly this one was probably the easiest. He could be Loverboy Lance. No, he _was_ Loverboy Lance—right then and there, no future tense about it. The girls nodded.

            “Sounds great,” the friendly one said.

            So Lance went with them to the big row of carts and tents where people were grilling and frying and creating about every carnival staple imaginable. Pizza, hotdogs, fried chicken, pretzels, French fries, funnel cakes, deep-fried Twinkies. The girls—whose names were Hannah and Megan, he learned—picked the booth labeled “Potato Twisters” and of course that just had to be the one where Hunk was working.

            “Hey, man,” he beamed as Lance panicked all over again. “Who are your friends?”

            Red, Lance introduced them. Hunk tried to show them how the potato slicing machine worked, and Hannah and Megan got a kick out of it, but Lance kind of wanted to put _himself_ through the gears.

            The three of them found a place to sit and eat, and while they did, they chatted about nothing—favorite movies, things to do, animals, books, small talk stuff. Try as he might, Lance just wanted his lunch hour to end. About forty-five minutes in, he realized he had forgotten to go to the office and clock out. So now he had to panic about that, but at least it was a good excuse to leave Hannah and Megan behind.

            When he got to the office, he found Shiro and Coran inside. Coran was occupied trying to unlatch one of the ratchet straps that was still around a stack of filing drawers, and Shiro was sitting behind a computer, but both of them looked over as Lance came in.

            “I forgot to clock out,” he said.

            “Ah, I see you’ve discovered one of the seven wonders of the Carnival of Lions,” Coran said, eyes sparkling as they locked onto the half-eaten potato twister Lance was carrying in one of those little corndog trays. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

            “I mean—”

            “I’ve been trying to convince Allura to rename them ‘potato tornados,’ but she just won’t see sense.” Coran clicked his tongue, then framed each word with his hand as he spoke them again. “Potato. Tornado.”

            “What was it you needed, Lance?” Shiro asked with a smile.

            Grateful for the rescue, Lance went to the guy’s desk and set the tray down. Coran drifted off, mumbling still about renaming the dumb potatoes as he returned to work on the ratchet strap.

            “I’ve been on my lunch for like forty-five minutes, but I forgot to clock out,” he said.

            Shiro nodded. “Okay, that’s an easy fix.”

            He minimized whatever screen he’d been using on the computer and opened some kind of timetable application. Seeing how many programs the guy had running, and how many tabs were open on the browser behind the app, and _also_ the mountains of stuff all over the desk made Lance feel a little guilty for interrupting him when he was clearly very busy.

            “Thanks for coming last night,” Shiro said. His eyes flicked briefly from the screen to Lance’s face to smile. Smiled a lot, Shiro.

            Lance started. “Oh. Sure. I… It was really cool, actually.”

            Shiro chuckled. “Keith’s pretty talented, huh?”

            A little subdued, Lance nodded.

            “I’m glad Romelle talked him into it. He doesn’t show his stuff very often.”

            Lance wanted to ask why not, but he stopped himself. The less information he had about Keith, the better. Spent enough of his time as it was with the guy on his mind. Even the mental admission right then to himself made his cheeks flush. He didn’t _want_ to think about Keith. But at the same time…

            “All right,” Shiro said, looking up at Lance with a nod and another winning smile. “That’s taken care of. I edited your time sheet to show an hour break, so you won’t need to come clock back in.”

            “Thanks,” Lance said, his mouth dry.

            He took his potato twister and left the office, Coran shouting, “Potato tornado! Tell your friends!” as he went. Then he found a decent place to hide until the remaining ten minutes of his lunch were over and he could get back to work.

            Pidge was already in the Milk Bottle shy wearing her ridiculous elderly Indiana Jones hat when he got there. By the sheen of sweat on her face, she’d been there for a while.

            “No trainer?” he asked, stepping over the low temporary wall that separated the booth from the midway.

            “I’m your trainer,” Pidge replied.

            “ _You?_ ”

            “It’s not hard, Lance. You take people’s money, give them a ball, and set up the bottles after they knock them over. It isn’t rocket science.”

            “Okay, but…” He glanced around for prying eyes, then leaned in to whisper to Pidge anyway. “Don’t I need to know, like, how to rig it?”

            Pidge shook her head. “We received a _very_ intense and in-depth lecture about how every game at the Carnival of Lions is fair and honest.”

            “A lecture from who?”          

            “Coran.”

            Lance nodded. That tracked. Still, he wasn’t certain he believed it.

            “ _Are_ they though?” he asked.

            “Are they what?”

            “Fair and honest?”

            Pidge shrugged, tossing the ball she had in her hand in the air and catching it. “As far as I can tell. None of the bottles are weighted.”

            “Are you sure that’s how they do it?”

            “Lance, the fact that you don’t believe that _I_ of all people on this green earth could figure out how to rig a carnival game cuts me deep.” She pressed a hand against her heart and made a mock expression of righteous suffering. “Have you learned nothing?”

            Well, she’d taught him how to hammer frozen hot dogs into the ground at the perfect angle for easy entry and impossible exit after they’d thawed. And the various methods for throwing a toilet paper roll to get the best trajectory depending on how much was left. And what kind of kitchen substances combined to make the most explosive compounds. Come to think of it, Pidge had been scientifically pranking people for as long as Lance had known her.

            “ _Could_ you rig it?” he asked.

            “Duh,” Pidge replied. “But I’d like to keep my job, thanks.”

            The games weren’t particularly busy. In fact, the carnival itself wasn’t particularly busy, but at least in the shy Lance had Pidge to talk to and distract him. There was a brief period where a lot of customers trotted through all at once, and he worried that he might see Hannah and Megan again, but was spared the encounter. At the end of the wave, Pidge took a seat on the little wall.

            “What did you think of Keith’s movie?” she asked. “We didn’t really get a chance to talk about it.”

            Lance dodged by asking, “What did _you_ think?”

            Pidge nodded. “It was interesting. Not what I expected.”

            “No, definitely not.”

            She made a considering face, then shrugged. “Far be it from me to claim any kind of ability as an art critic, but I’ve seen plenty of pieces in museums with less, I don’t know, meat? It felt personal, somehow. Like it really had something to say.”

            She’d taken the words right out of his mouth. Lance stayed quiet and just nodded along. Another wave of patrons started up, and by the time it ended, their shift was over, and Pidge had moved on to talking about what was for dinner. But Lance hadn’t moved on yet. He didn’t seem able to.

            It was like he’d been sucked into that black and white world, and it kind of freaked him out. Everything was familiar and ordinary, but titled just enough off its axis to trouble him. It was then that he realized Keith’s film had captured a little of the essence of the Nothing.

            That vague sense of dread.

            The darkness at the end of the summer.

            He stopped walking, but didn’t notice that he had until Pidge stopped ahead of him and turned back to raise her eyebrows.

            “What?” she asked.

            Lance shook his head. “Nothing.”

 

They went into town to eat once Hunk’s shift had ended, got some fish and chips as takeaway from a local place on the waterfront, and sat on the beach until sunset. Night had settled in by the time they made it back to the fairgrounds, and the place was in full-swing—all the lights and the music going. The Ferris wheel in particular looked amazing lit up against the black of the sky.

            A little swell of pride moved through Lance’s heart in spite of everything. He’d helped _build_ that.

            Pidge and Hunk were ready to turn in, but Lance wanted to wander.  Wanted to try and work a little of the Restless from his legs before going to bed. They had a closing shift the next day anyway. He could stay up and then sleep in if he wanted.

            So he wandered through the fairgrounds instead. It was a welcome splash of color. A much-needed breath of life. The smell of cotton candy and kettle corn, the delighted shrieks of people on the rides, the dance of the lights and the embrace of the music. It eased a little of his discord. Until he saw Keith—operating the booth at the Ferris wheel.

            Lance had had crushes on other boys. _Obviously_. How else would he have arrived at the bisexual conclusion? Most of them had been retrospective—once he’d figured it out, so many feelings of admiration and “oh I _really_ want to be friends with this guy” that suddenly made perfect sense—or they’d been celebrities. He’d found one or two guys attractive in real-time since then, but there was something about this one— _this. one._ —that just… He couldn’t.

            How could he _not_ crush on the guy, _look_ at him.

            Keith had a carnival logo sweatshirt pulled on, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was thick and loose, kinda shiny in the light coming off the Ferris wheel. He was talented, the movie was proof. And skilled—knew how to assemble carnival rides and drive like a pro. He just existed in this weird, quiet aura of semi-aggressive confidence that drove Lance crazy in a lot of ways. He didn’t _want_ to think Keith was attractive, but there they were: Lance lingering in the shadows a short distance away, Keith running the Ferris wheel with his hands in those dumb little honestly kind of sexy leather gloves.

            It took everything Lance had to finally admit to himself that this _was_ a crush.

            He was still learning to accept the bisexuality thing as reality.

            It was all well and good to claim the label, claim he felt comfortable with the label, but it still terrified him. A little bit. Liking guys. Being bi, he’d been able to trick himself into thinking maybe the whole “guy” part of it would never come into play.

            But, again, there they were.

            Or, rather, there _he_ was, creeping in the dark like Keith had creeped in the bushes yesterday. They didn’t really know each other. Most of the times they’d talked, they’d been in a fight about one thing or another. So maybe that’s all it was: an attraction. Maybe nothing would come of it, and Lance could go on his merry way enjoying the free eye candy without any strings attached. Maybe.

            And maybe he wanted to uncover more of that black-and-white-to-color world. Maybe he wanted to learn why the guy saw things the way he did, how his mind worked. Maybe he wanted to know everything about Keith.

            God, that scared him.

            He went back to trailer six in a hurry and found Hunk and Pidge inside at the table playing Egyptian Rat Screw with a deck of cards Pidge had brought. She saw the look on his face as he came through the door, and she opened her mouth, but Lance disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door before she could ask her questions.

            He braced his hands on the sink and leaned against it. Shutting his eyes, he drew a deep breath in through his nose and let it out through his mouth. Breathe.

            Speak.

            Breathe.

            _Speak_.

            Breathe.

            “ _Speak_.”

            Keith’s voice that time, and Lance’s brows drew together. His heart shuddered and he sank to the fake tile, sliding down the wall. He didn’t want to like Keith. He didn’t. He _didn’t_. He didn’t want to deal with it. Not now. Not with the Restless. Not with the Nothing. Not ever. He didn’t want to be like this.

            He put his face in his hands and he thought for a second that he might actually cry. With a lot of painful effort, he kept it to a couple silent tears that rolled down his cheeks. He jumped when someone knocked on the door.

            “Lance?”

            It was Pidge.

            “Yeah?” he replied, his voice sticking.

            “Everything okay?”

            He let out his breath.

            No.

            “Yes.”

            A pause. An evaluation of the truthfulness of his statement.

            “Okay,” Pidge said.

            He could tell by her tone she’d seen through him.

            Getting up, Lance turned on the shower and shed his clothes, stepping in before the water was even warm. The cold was enough to shock him temporarily, to keep him functional long enough to get ready for bed and climb onto his bunk.

            But Lance still dreamed that night in monochrome.

 

At the end of the week, they packed up. It was crazy how stuff that took two days to put together took only a few hours to break down. The carnival caravan got on the road early Monday morning, headed for Eureka.

            Lance sat tense in the passenger seat of the truck across from Keith.

            All week, he’d been careful to avoid the guy—trading shifts to work the shy games when he was scheduled on the rides, steering clear of his trailer, turning around and walking the other direction any time Keith crossed his path, his own personal black cat of bad luck. He’d been pretty successful overall until Monday morning rolled around and Keith showed up to drive the truck towing their trailer again.

            Mr. Potato Tornado hadn’t found the time to replace the hitch.

            “It’ll be a-okay,” Coran had assured them. “It’s only two hours to Eureka!”

            But it wasn’t the trailer Lance was worried about.

            Nobody tried to fight Keith on the jazz this time, so they sped down the highway listening in silence to some CD chockfull of slow, sultry tracks that made Lance squirm.

            “Who’s this?” Pidge asked about midway through the third song. At least, Lance _thought_ it was the third song. They all just kind of bled together for him.

            “Duke Ellington,” Keith replied.

            “Hey, I know that one,” Hunk chimed in with a smile.

            Keith flicked his eyes to the rearview, and Lance thought he saw him give a small smile in return. “Yeah, I’d hope so. He wrote more than a thousand pieces of music.”

            Hunk’s eyebrows shot up. “ _Wow._ A thousand?”

            The smile on Keith’s face widened, becoming real, and he laughed, sending a little pang through Lance’s heart.

            “Yeah,” he said. “A thousand.”

            “That’s, like, a song a day for three years.”

            “I’m sure it takes more than a day to compose a song,” Pidge said.

            The two of them settled into a debate then about how long it would take to write the average jazz song, then recalculated their math. Lance watched Keith smile as he watched them in the rearview. Sensing eyes on him, Keith’s gaze flicked to Lance and the smile disappeared. Both of them straightened. Both of them turned to stare out the windshield.

            “What’s…um…what’s Eureka like?” Lance asked, feeling a need to say something since Hunk and Pidge were engaged in their own conversation in the backseat.

            “It’s fine,” Keith replied.

            “Descriptive.”

            Keith’s jaw tightened. “What do you want me to say? It’s Eureka.”

            “Yeah, what’s it _like?_ ”

            Keith sucked a deep breath in through his nose. His lips curled like he was getting ready to say something and was trying to figure out a way to say it nice. When he did reply, he spoke through his teeth.

            “It’s fine.”

            Unable to help himself, Lance opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted when Pidge suddenly propelled herself forward from the back and slung an elbow on the shoulder of his seat. She anchored herself over the little console between him and Keith.

            “Oh, I meant to ask, are we gonna be passing any of the drive-thru Redwoods?”

            “What, like the touristy ones?”

            Pidge nodded.

            “The only one I know is on the Avenue of the Giants,” Keith replied. “Further south. In Myers Flat.”

            “So we’re not passing it?”

            “Not today.”

            Nodding, Pidge sat back. Lance opened his mouth to resume his line of questioning, but Pidge reappeared at his shoulder an instant later and interrupted him again.

            “ _Can_ we pass it?”

            “Today?”

            “Anytime.”

            Keith shrugged. “Probably not with the trailer.”

            “Without?”

            “I don’t know.”

            Pidge put the tips of her fingers together and batted her eyelashes. “Special side trip?”

            Lance glared at her. “ _Pidge_.”

            She returned the expression, narrowing her eyes as she flopped back onto her seat and folded her arms across her chest with a huff.

            “‘I wanna drive through a Redwood,’” she grumbled to herself in a tone mockingly identical to Lance’s voice.

            Embarrassed, Lance left the conversation at that.

            They arrived in Eureka two hours later, right on schedule, and got to work straight away. The rides team divided into the same subgroups as they had for set up in Crescent City, only this time the three semitrailers that hauled the Ferris wheel parts weren’t already in place. So Lance and the other guys watched as Keith maneuvered them into position one by one, backing them up and aligning the platforms perfectly. Lance caught himself staring as Keith hopped down from the cab of the last semi-truck. Keith caught him, too.

            “Let’s go,” he said to the team and headed immediately for the platforms. Lance wasn’t sure, but he thought maybe he heard the guy’s voice crack.

            The next couple of hours were mostly agony. Keith was in charge, so Keith was giving orders, telling them what to do, but he was so _good_ at it. Lance had to force himself to focus on the work, the manual labor and heavy lifting. He didn’t like Keith. He didn’t _want_ to like Keith. But, like, even just his _voice_ , man. It ticked Lance off for some reason. He latched onto that irritation, let it brew and become a smokescreen for everything else.

            They’d nearly finished winching the support legs when Shiro appeared a short distance off. He broke into a jog when he saw Keith, and Keith went to the edge of the platform when Shiro waved him over. Lance scooted a little closer to eavesdrop.

            “…some bad news,” Shiro was saying as Lance moved within earshot. “We’re going to tell the whole crew, but I thought you deserved a little extra warning.”

            “Okay.”

            “Zarkon’s booked the fairgrounds on the other side of the city. Coran ran into their advance team.”

            The change in Keith was instantaneous. Every ounce of his usual brooding confidence drained from his body like pulling the plug on a bathtub. His shoulders sank, and he went tense. The color left his face as his hands clenched into fists, but the fists fell loose a moment later, emptied of energy. Shiro put a hand on Keith’s ankle just briefly, gave a subtle reassuring squeeze Lance was sure none of the other guys would even have noticed.

            “Hey,” he said. “It’ll be all right. We might not see them.”

            “We _always_ see them, Shiro,” Keith replied, a little anger sparking and reanimating his frame. “Every time Zarkon’s around, _something_ happens.”

            “Keith, we’ll deal with it.”

            “How, Shiro?” Keith threw his hands out. “Shit goes down with them no matter what, and that was before Acxa started working there.” He got really worked up then, his face turning red, voice rising in volume. “I haven’t seen her since it happened. I _don’t want_ to see her.”

            “ _Keith._ ”

            Shiro’s tone was a comfort, but it was also a censure. Keith’s shouting had finally drawn the attention of the other guys on the Ferris wheel team. He went pale again and turned away from them, his face to the ground. Shiro stepped sideways to put himself in Keith’s line of sight. Keith tried to look away, but Shiro kept his eyes on his face. When he spoke, he did so softly.

            “I can’t guarantee you won’t see her, but at least now it won’t be a surprise. Okay?”

            The question forced an answer out of Keith, just a dazed sort of frightened nod. Shiro nodded back, then looked to the rest of the team and flashed a smile.

            “Looking great, guys,” he said. “Keep up the good work.”

            He left. Keith just stood there. Lance exchanged uncertain expressions with the other guys on the team, but none of them did or said anything. Keith’s fingers curled up into fists. His shoulders hunched toward his ears, then released with a huff. Just as Lance started to step toward him—he didn’t know what he was going to say, but he would have come up with something—Keith turned around, stalked across the loading platform, and went back to work without saying a word. The other guys fell into line, and Lance did, too. None of them were brave enough to ask about what had just happened.

 

“It was _super_ weird, Pidge,” Lance was saying to her as the two of them headed to dinner. “Like a switch flipped.”

            Lance had been telling her all about the conversation between Shiro and Keith since they’d met up at trailer six after their shifts had ended. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He never would have thought a guy like Keith could get shaken like that.

            “I wanna know more about this Zarkon dude,” she replied. “Shiro said they booked the other fairgrounds?”

            Lance nodded.

            “Another carnival, do you think?”

            He put his hands up in a massive shrug. “Hell if I know, Pidge. I wish you could have seen it. It was like…” He was still struggling to put it into words.

            They passed by the office on their way to the grouping of open-air tables that constituted what had been the pavilion at the Crescent City grounds. The office door was open, and from inside came this enormous crash that sounded like a filing cabinet tipping over. It was followed by a muffled, “ _Quiznak_ ,” and then a louder call of, “I’m fine!” that sounded like Allura.

            Lance and Pidge exchanged expressions.

            “I don’t think I can walk away from that in good conscience,” Lance said.

            “I can,” Pidge replied and high-tailed it out of there. “I’m off the clock.”

            Lance scowled as she scurried off, but snapped back to attention pretty quickly and headed up the steps into the office where he had his suspicions confirmed. Allura was in there, along with one prostrate filing cabinet and a whole mess of papers that had fallen out. She was struggling to get the thing upright on her own.

            “Hey, are you okay? Here,” he said, hurrying forward and helping her push.

            “Thank you,” she grunted, offering a smile that was strained by her effort.

            With a _thunk_ , the cabinet tipped back into place and a bunch more of the papers fell out of the drawers. Allura blew a frustrated puff of air from her mouth and then laughed.

            “I’ll have to remind Coran not to tighten the straps quite so much,” she said.

            They both bent down and started collecting all the papers and folders. Lance didn’t know how to organize them, though, so the ones that he picked up, he set on the nearest desk.

            “Yeah, he was having a rough time with one of them last week,” Lance said. “When I came in here to clock out. But he talked about the potato twisters, mostly.”

            Allura let out a groan. “He didn’t he tell you—”

            “About changing the name to potato tornado? Yeah. He did”

            He chuckled at the expression of grief that took over her face. Allura shook her head, and together they collected the last of the folders and plopped them on the desk. She let out a deep and withering sigh.

            “Thank you, Lance,” she said, finding a smile.

            Blushing, Lance smiled back. “Sure,” he said and shrugged, glancing around the room. The rest of the cabinets were still strapped to the walls, and none of the computers or anything had been set up. He wondered if Allura had been left to take care of it all on her own, which led him to wonder where Coran was, and if Coran was still dealing with the mysterious Zarkon issue.

            “Hey, do you need help?” he asked, gesturing at the cabinets with his thumb.

            She opened her mouth, and it looked like she was going to say no, and Lance wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so he went to one of the cabinets and started undoing the straps. Allura sighed again.

            “Thank you,” she said. “It’s been quite a day.”

            “Yeah, so I hear.” The cabinet he’d been working on came free. He put the strap on top and moved to the next one. “What’s up?”

            “It seems one of my father’s old rivals has booked the fairgrounds on the opposite side of the city,” Allura replied. She started sorting through the papers on the desk, returning them to their files and putting the files in the drawers. “They should arrive in a matter of days.”

            “Zarkon, right?”

            She nodded. “They tend to do this to us regularly, but never in a city so small.”

            “Do what? Book near you guys?”

            She nodded again, her hands falling still and her eyes going a little distant, lost in thought. “Zarkon is quite cutthroat. He and my father were partners once, when I was just a baby, but they split up. Now Zarkon runs his own fair. He thinks it’s good to encourage…competition.”

            Lance frowned. “Will it hurt business, do you think?”

            Allura drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “Who can say? We do tend to see a dip in profits whenever there are other fairs nearby. And…Eureka isn’t exactly a major population center.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            Her eyes flicked to him. She smiled and his heart went pitter-pat.

            “That’s all right,” she said. “We’ll just have to do our best.”

            She returned to organizing, so Lance went back to taking the straps off the cabinets. He really wanted to ask her if she knew what the deal with Keith was, why Shiro had given him “extra warning” and if she knew anything about this Acxa person, but that felt kind of (re: very) nosy, and she already had enough to deal with. So they worked quick and quiet and had the filing cabinets sorted after a couple of minutes—though Lance nearly knocked a second one over himself when the strap around it came flying loose. 

            “Oh, quiznak, are you all right?” Allura asked, coming over to steady him as he stumbled backwards.

            Lance straightened himself in a hurry, turning a little pink at her touch. “Oh, yeah. Fine. Totally fine.” He cleared his throat, then changed the subject. “Quiznak?”

            Allura laughed. “It’s a word my father and Coran invented. To replace some of their more colorful language.”

            “Gotcha.”

            “It doesn’t really suit to have a five-year-old wandering around spouting various four-letter-words she learned from the crew.”

            Picturing a mini-Allura cursing by imitation was honestly kind of hilarious, so Lance cracked up. Allura laughed as well, the expression eventually taken over by a sentimental smile that turned a little sad.

            “I bet he would have been proud of you. Your dad,” Lance said.

            Her brows drew together as she looked at him. “Thank you.”

            The spent a second looking at each other like that before Lance got embarrassed and Allura let out a sigh.

            “I can finish the rest myself,” she said and smiled. “Thank you so much for your help.”

            Clearing his throat, Lance nodded. “Happy to.”

            She nodded at him, so Lance took that as his cue to go, tucking his hands into his pockets and leaving the office. Thankfully Pidge and Hunk had saved him a seat at their table and collected a meal for him. He climbed in next to Hunk and started eating right away, half-conscious of the fact that he was scoping out the other tables for Keith and/or Shiro.

            “How’d your rescue mission go, lover boy?” Pidge asked.

            Lance fixed her with a stare. “Tell me true, Pidge, you cold-hearted robot. If I was drowning, would you save me?”

            “That depends,” Pidge replied. “How much noise are you making?”

            “That’s actually a common drowning misconception,” Hunk put in. “Real drowning victims don’t shriek and splash around like they do in the movies. In fact, they don’t really make noise at all.”

            Pidge and Lance both squinted at him.

            “Why are your fun facts never fun?” Pidge asked.

            Hunk shrugged. “At least mine are good in emergencies. Besides, of any of us, Lance is probably the least likely to drown.”

            Lance struck a mock flexing pose with both his arms. “Hell yeah, baby. Swimming safety training graduate, class of ’06. Top marks.”

            “I’m still surprised they let a fish enroll,” Pidge said.

            Lance was ready with a quip, but a microphone fuzzed to life and let out a squeal of feedback. Everybody in the food area jumped or complained, all simultaneously turning toward Shiro at the microphone stand in the middle.

            “Hey, guys, sorry about that,” he said. “Just a couple announcements. First, great job today. We’re on track to open for tomorrow night, so thanks for all your hard work. Second, the schedule for next week has been posted. Please don’t forget to take a look. Let me know if there are any changes you might want to make.” He was quiet for a beat. “Finally…I know some rumors are already going around about Zarkon’s Family Fun Fair coming into the area.”

            Lance snorted. “Family Fun Fair? What in the hell kind of name is that?”

            Hunk shushed him. Shiro was still talking.

            “I’m sure most of you have heard by now about our…reputation with Zarkon and his team. It’s in your best interest to avoid them. I know this won’t always be possible. Eureka’s a fairly small town. The members of the advance team are the only ones here at the moment, but the rest of the fair will arrive within the next few days. Please, if you come across any of them, don’t engage. They won’t do anything to harm you, but they will try and provoke. If you feel unsafe for any reason, or something happens, please let one of the senior members of staff know.”

            “Jeeze,” Lance said under his breath. “These guys sound like…actual trouble.”

            Pidge nodded, a little bewildered. “With a name like ‘Zarkon’s Family Fun Fair’…”

            Neither of them could help snorting again, it was just so ridiculous. Even Hunk had to purse his lips to keep from laughing. Shiro finished his warning speech off with a positive encouragement to the group and then sat down. Lance watched where he went, but Keith wasn’t at the table. Keith wasn’t anywhere, as a matter of fact.

            So Lance was left to wonder for the rest of the night.

 

By some miracle, Hunk and Lance and Pidge had been given all of that Tuesday off even though it was still a set-up day. None of that half-day business, no sir. So they walked into Old Town to go to breakfast at the Denny’s. Hunk wasn’t happy about it.

            “Seriously, you guys,” he said as they pulled open the door and went inside. “There are probably tons of local places with great food and you pick _Denny’s_.”

            “Familiarity, Hunk,” Pidge said. The place was pretty busy, so the hostess took a name, handed them menus, and asked them to wait. “Sometimes you just need a Grand Slam.”   

            Hunk grumbled. “You know what they say about familiarity.”

            “What?”

            “It breeds contempt.”

            “So _that’s_ why I despise Lance so much.”

            Lance whacked her over the head with his menu. She squawked, swatting him back. Sighing and shaking his head, Hunk perused his own, looking over the breakfast items like he’d been deeply, deeply betrayed.

            “You just can’t trust a place with a menu this big.”

            “In what world is a _bigger_ menu a problem?” Lance asked.

            “It’s called the ‘burden of choice’, Lance,” Hunk replied. “You can’t give customers too many options or they get overwhelmed.”

            Pidge nodded into the middle distance. “I _do_ tend to get the same thing every time.”

            “Exactly.”

            With how slammed the place was, they ended up waiting for a good forty-five minutes. Hunk read and critiqued every word on the menu multiple times. Lance was about ready to bail on the whole thing, one, because he was starving, and two, to appease Hunk’s ceaseless railing on the menu’s layout. Then freaking _Keith_ opened the door and walked into the restaurant. He took one look at the three of them sat on the waiting bench and stopped dead in his tracks.

            “Goddamn it,” he said.

            It was at that moment the hostess called Pidge’s name. The three of them glanced between Keith and the hostess as they stood up. Then Pidge motioned with her head for Keith to join them.

            “The wait’s almost an hour,” she said.

            Lance’s heart stopped. No, Keith couldn’t eat with them. No, no, no. He’d die first. He’d go down swinging. Keith didn’t look too keen on the idea himself, chewing on his bottom lip and flicking his gaze to the carpet. The hostess cleared her throat.

            “C’mon,” Pidge said. “Serendipity.”

            She headed off to go with the hostess, and Hunk followed. Lance and Keith both lingered for a second, Lance waiting to see what Keith would decide to do, Keith apparently trying to do that deciding. Pidge was right about one thing—it _was_ very serendipitous. Like the universe kept throwing them together. Lance’s heart thudded at the thought.

            “I have to get back to the fairgrounds in an hour,” Keith said. “I didn’t think it would be this busy…”

            “You didn’t think a Denny’s would be busy at _breakfast?_ ”

            Keith just shrugged. Pidge and Hunk and the hostess were getting farther and farther away, so Lance gritted his teeth and turned around and moved to follow.

            “You’d better eat with us then,” he said.

            He didn’t look back. Pidge and Hunk were already sliding into the same side of a booth as he walked up. The waitress set little rolls of silverware in front of them, then turned to look at Keith as he approached, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

            “I thought you said three?” she asked Pidge.

            “I did, I’m sorry,” Pidge replied, giving the woman her best innocent smile. “Is four okay?”

            The hostess sighed, but shrugged. “Sure. I’ll bring another menu over.”

            She put two more silverware sets from her apron on the table and walked away. Keith and Lance both looked at the empty side of the booth, then each other.

            “After you,” Lance said and gestured to the table.

            Keith’s mouth opened, but there wasn’t anything he could say, really, that wouldn’t make the situation more awkward than it already was, so he just shut up and climbed in. Lance followed, careful not to sit too close. In turn, Keith tucked himself right next to the wall. The hostess reappeared then and handed Keith a menu.

            “Thanks,” he mumbled.

            He flipped through, not really looking. Lance and Pidge exchanged expressions across the table—Lance narrowing his eyes at her, Pidge shrugging. Hunk unrolled his silverware and inspected it for spots.

            “Don’t you know better places for breakfast around here?” he asked, setting down his fork and looking at Keith.

            Keith’s eyes flicked up from the menu. He glanced at Pidge and Lance, then looked back at Hunk. “No…” he said. “Should I?”

            “You’re more familiar with the area,” Hunk replied.

            “What’s wrong with Denny’s?”

            Hunk drew in a deep breath, but Pidge stuck her hand up and covered his mouth.

            “Don’t answer that,” she said.

            Their waitress came and introduced herself and brought them water, asked if there was anything else they wanted to drink. Pidge put in a request for orange juice, and once the waitress had returned with it, they were ready to order. Keith seemed to relax a little once the orders were in and food was on the way. Pidge chatted with him about Eureka and what there was to do in the city. Hunk joined in, but Lance stayed quiet, even as the conversation shifted to other topics. He just didn’t trust himself not to say something stupid. And Keith was the last person he wanted to look stupid in front of.

            Their food came. They ate. Lance kept his mouth shut. By then, the discussion had shifted to Cthulhu and Lovecraft—something Pidge and Keith were mutually interested in, apparently. Lance was about to finally take the plunge and ask if Cthulhu and the Flying Spaghetti Monster were the same thing when Keith suddenly stopped talking in the middle of a word and went bone-white pale. Exactly like he had yesterday.

            Lance followed his line of sight to a pair of women who had entered the dining area behind the hostess and were headed toward their table. One of them was lithe, her wavy, henna-red hair pulled up in an incredible ponytail that spilled from the top of her head all the way to her waist. The other looked like she could actually kill somebody—tall and thick and muscular, her messy hair a purple-to-pink ombré shorn at her chin. The second one had green lipstick on, and it shined bright around her teeth when she noticed Keith and her lips curled back in a threatening smile.

            “Well, well, well,” she said, her voice deep and intimidating. “Look who it is, Ezor.”

            The other woman turned her head with a bounce, and her blue eyes lit up when they landed on Keith. “The boy with the flippity hair himself,” she trilled, then smiled a creepy sort of skin-crawling smile.

            “Move,” Keith growled at Lance, but Lance was too confused to do anything but glance between Keith and the women over and over again.

            “I didn’t think we’d be meeting so soon,” the tall woman said, coming right up to their booth and crossing her arms over her chest even though the hostess was trying to lead them somewhere else. The smaller woman, Ezor, Lance guessed, sidled up beside her, and together they grinned down at Keith.

            “It’s like serendipity,” Ezor said.

            “ _Move,_ Lance,” Keith said, already getting up.

            Lance jolted to attention, and only just got out of the booth before Keith could straight up climb over him. Both of them knocked various limbs against the table, rattling the dishes and the silverware as Keith tried to go quick and Lance got tangled up. Neither of the women moved to give them room, so Lance tipped over a little bit once he was on his feet, and Keith shoved past all three of them to storm through the dining room and out of the restaurant altogether.

            Ezor and the other woman looked at each other and laughed, then left the table without acknowledging Lance or Hunk or Pidge. The latter’s eyebrows were raised so high, they’d disappeared beneath her bangs.

            “What on _earth?_ ”

            Lance didn’t stay to speculate. Instinctively, he went after Keith. The guy had looked about ready to explode. Pidge might have called after him, but Lance was dialed in and didn’t really hear her, if she’d said anything at all.

            By the time Lance got out of the Denny’s, Keith was halfway across the parking lot and moving fast. Lance jogged to catch him up.

            “Keith!”

            Keith did not slow down.

            “Keith! Hey!”

            Lance picked up the pace, legs putting him in stride with Keith, who continued to stalk forward, his face fixed in an expression of intense anger. Lance grabbed his elbow to get him to stop, and Keith reacted like he’d been hit with a hot poker, tearing his arm free and whirling on Lance.  

            “Don’t touch me!”  
            Lance stumbled back, putting his hands up. “Dude, chill!”

            Keith blinked at him, a realization sparking at the back of his eyes. He’d stopped moving at least, and now with that realization—whatever it was—his angry expression traded for a sorrowful one. He went pale again, turning his face toward the asphalt.

            “What happened in there?” Lance asked. “Who were those girls?”

            “Zethrid and Ezor,” Keith replied, his voice soft. “They’re part of Zarkon’s advance team.”

            Shiro’s speech from the night before echoed across Lance’s mind, followed by an instant-replay of the menacing smiles those women had given Keith, the way the air around them had almost crackled with intimidation. And they were only the advance team—the people who showed up ahead of the carnival to advertise and make sure everything was ready to go—just one small portion of a larger whole. Regardless of all that, though, based on the way they had acted, Lance had to assume they had a history with Keith.

            “Do you know them?” he asked. 

            Keith nodded.

            “Do they, like…hate you?”

            Keith’s gaze flicked up from the asphalt finally. Lance’s heart stopped. The way Keith’s eyes looked—it was that black and white world in his head in full view. Pain and unease on display. Big, dark eyes, full of so much hurt.

            “They went to my school,” Keith said, looking away. “Back when I went to school, I mean.”

            “Yeah, _and?_ ”

            That was no reason for there to be so much bad blood. Sure, they worked for rival carnivals, but this felt like more than that, even on a surface level. Keith drew in a deep breath and let it out with a huff.

            “I don’t really want to talk about it, Lance,” he said. When he looked up this time, the black and white world was gone, covered up with a layer of protective aggression. “They were juniors when I was a freshman and some shit happened and they were at the center of it, okay?”

            Lance wanted to push, wanted to ask more questions, get more answers, try to help, if he could. Support the guy, or something. He didn’t know. What he did know was that he wouldn’t get anywhere with Keith like this. If anything, Lance asking questions would probably just piss him off more. So he nodded and said, “Okay.” He was quiet for a second before he added, “I’m sorry. Whatever it was. It sounds bad.”

            “Their friend, Acxa…she… Well, they all outed me. To the school.”

            That struck a chord deep, deep in Lance. A profound and resonant fear that rang through him. In a flash of imagination, he saw himself in the same situation—what that would have been like, how violating, how terrifying. The kind of living hell going to school would have turned into afterwards. He stared at Keith, his mouth hanging open a little.

            “Oh my god.”

            Keith shrugged, but it wasn’t very convincing. “I made some really stupid decisions that hurt Acxa. She had every right—”

            “ _No._ ”

            The word wasn’t a shout, but it _was_ full of venom, and Keith looked at Lance in surprise.

            “No, man. _No_. Nobody has any right to do that to anybody. I don’t care why. That’s messed up.”

            Keith just stared at him. Lance suddenly noticed how flushed his face had become, how genuinely angry he was. Part of him wanted to go back inside and drop kick Zethrid and Ezor across the Denny’s dining room. The other part wanted to live. He sucked a sharp breath in through his nose and let it out, straightening, letting the emotion flow out of him.

            “How did you deal with that?” he asked.

            Keith snorted. “Not well.”

            Lance raised his eyebrows.

            “I got kicked out, didn’t I?”

            Keith smirked. Lance returned it with a soft chuckle. At least Keith had calmed down. He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned his face toward the road, but he was looking into the past—reliving some memory. Lance admired the line of his nose in profile. His mouth.

            “Could I pay you guys back for breakfast?” Keith asked. He looked back at Lance, and Lance jumped. They both turned a little red. “I don’t want to go back in there.”

            Lance nodded. “Sure, man. That’s no problem.”

            “Thanks.”

            Keith swallowed, then he nodded in the direction of the road and took a backwards step toward it. Lance did the same, but with the Denny’s.

            “I’ll see you back there,” Lance said.

            Keith nodded. “See you.”

            They both turned and headed for their respective destinations. As Lance reentered the Denny’s, Pidge and Hunk were at the front register, finishing their transaction. Pidge fixed him with a flat stare and slapped a receipt against his chest as she and Hunk went out the door.

            “You owe me twenty-four dollars and thirty-eight cents.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 7 got me all kinds of shook, folks. 
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated, will go toward my recovery. ;)


	6. But I Still Got My Stripes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some gay slurs in this one, folks. Just fair warning.

Keith’s mom had left when he was a baby. His dad didn’t talk about her much, and when he did it was these things about the kinds of adventures she must be having all over the world, visiting Korea and doing loads of amazing shit. He told Keith they’d given him her last name because they could tell right away that he had the same bold spirit. It wasn’t until after his dad had died, and Keith had had to help clean out their house, that he’d found his mom’s nine-year-old death certificate in a plastic file under the bed.

            His dad was an only child whose parents were long gone, and nobody knew anything about his mom’s family, so Keith became “that orphan kid in foster care” before he could blink.

            He’d wondered every day since why his dad had gone back into that fire to save those kids—why _those_ kids had been more important to him than his own. In his head, he knew that wasn’t true, but his heart was harder to convince.

            So Keith bounced from house to house, always angry and always unwanted after proving that anger over and over again. He stopped bothering to learn his caseworkers’ names because the turnover rate was so high. He didn’t even meet some of them. School to school, city to city, a long stretch in LA in about five different houses. Surrounded by so many faces, but always alone. Some of that was his fault. He pushed plenty of decent people away, afraid subconsciously that they’d run into a burning building to save someone else without a second thought for him.

            By the time he wound up back in Sacramento, Keith had been red-rubber-stamped a lost cause. Fully expected to age out of the system, probably wind up incarcerated for one thing or another by the time he was twenty. He didn’t have a criminal record yet, but he was only twelve and there were plenty of hours in a day.

            Getting placed with the Shirogones was the best thing that ever happened to him.

            He’d said something mean and stupid when he’d met his new foster parents—he didn’t remember the exact words, but it had been to the tune of “they only stuck me with you because we’re both Asian and this is a last ditch effort and I’m gonna prove them wrong and make your lives a living hell.” They were new to the foster system. Keith was their first placement. And their last.

            They had adopted him and to this day, Keith still didn’t understand why.

            He’d been such a little shit. Given them hell like he’d promised to: fights at school, failing grades, a couple juvenile misdemeanors. They already had a kid, and he was Mr. Perfect. For a while, Keith was convinced they’d only been after a replacement for Shiro, not wanting to be empty nesters, but even after Shiro graduated, he didn’t move out of the house. He stuck around, took a job running PR for the dumb local carnival while he studied an online business course. Keith almost refused to believe it, but Shiro had stayed for _him_.

            After that, he’d tried harder. Actually _tried_. He’d still managed to royally screw up—get his ass booted from school, completely fail to graduate—but he’d tried. And he was still trying. If not for the Shirogones, Takashi in particular, Keith would have kept that rubber stamp and all it implied. He was still trying to wash it off, but at least he was trying.

            Which was why Acxa and the others and the shitstorm of history that came with them were the last thing he needed right now.

            Keith increased his pace, eager to put as much distance between himself and the Denny’s as possible. The fairgrounds would be safe—like a base in a game of Capture the Flag. Nobody from Zarkon’s team would dare try anything there. Not on Lion turf.   

            He was practically running by the time he made it back.

            “Keith!” Coran called, poking his head out the office window as Keith sped by. “Could I borrow you a moment?”

            “Sure,” Keith nodded, breathless, his voice sticky.

            Inside the office, Coran had assembled a map of Eureka on the corkboard. It was covered in strands of yarn and pictures like something from a CSI episode. Coran brought Keith over and stood him in front of it. Then he lingered and stared at Keith while Keith looked at the map purely out of obligation.

            “Well?” Coran asked after a moment.

            “Well what? Coran, what is this?”

            “My plan for avoiding Zarkon.”

            “It looks like a murder investigation.”

            Coran clicked his tongue, then hummed, a single eyebrow rising. “It very well could be, Keith. It very well could be. That’s _exactly_ what we’re trying to avoid…”

            His eyes turned to the map and he hummed again with his hand on his chin. Keith didn’t know what to say or think. Coran had caught him off-guard, and Keith had nearly forgotten about running into Zethrid and Ezor. Almost like it hadn’t happened. But it had. And Lance had come after him…

            “We can’t split the city in half,” Coran said, bringing Keith back with a jolt, “because we’ll need access to the same services, and those aren’t necessarily balanced.”

            “So, what? You’re gonna take this to Zarkon and make a proposal?” Keith asked.

            “No, I’m going to bring Zarkon _here_ and make a proposal,” Coran replied, as if that was obvious. “The corkboard is bolted to the wall. The only way to keep the peace is to mutually decide who has access to what parts of the city.”

            “Like a divorce.”

            “Or kids—dividing up a pack of baseball cards!”

            Coran’s simile was decidedly more cheerful. He grinned under his moustache as an accent. Keith sighed, looking at the map. His eyes drifted across Old Town, the Denny’s. Lance had come out after him. Why had Lance come out after him? He shook his head.

            “I don’t know, Coran.” He looked at his boss. “It wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”

            “That’s the spirit!” Coran gave him a mock punch on the shoulder. “So what should we do about the zoo?”

            “The zoo?”

            “Yes, well, there aren’t _two_ , and we can’t give access to one group and not another. Dividing the inside area wouldn’t make any sense, because then no one would be able to see all the animals. I suppose we could work out separate times during the day? Or perhaps different days of the week?”

            “Look, Coran, I need to get back to work…”

            Coran didn’t hear him. He was lost in his own world, muttering to himself as he leaned in close to the corkboard and squinted at the map. Keith took a few testing steps backwards and, when Coran didn’t notice, left the office altogether. He made quick work of getting back to the rides, to Romelle and the others who were working to set up the Fireball. His heart pounded as he reached the edge of the platform—part exercise, part irritation at remembering what had happened with Zethrid and Ezor, remembering what had happened with Lance _because_ of Zethrid and Ezor.

            Romelle turned and flashed Keith a smile as he hauled himself onto the platform. “How was breakfast?” she asked.

            “Bad.” Keith pulled on his gloves. “How’s everything here?”

            Romelle’s head cocked to the side, asking a question even as she answered his. “Yeah, fine,” she said. “This is one of the last ones as far as I know.”

            “What’s left?”

            She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I was going to do a check-in soon.”

            Giving her a curt nod, Keith fell into place on the small team constructing the Fireball. He took over instructions and decision-making power. Romelle eyeballed him the whole time. The second he saw her mouth open, he nipped her inevitable query in the bud.

            “Why don’t you go run that check for me, Romelle?”

            Her lips fell closed. She was quiet for a beat, and then she nodded, heading to the end of the platform and hopping down.

            “Okay,” she said and tried to give him a parting glance, but Keith skillfully avoided eye contact.

            Romelle didn’t know about Zethrid and Ezor. Romelle didn’t know about Acxa. She didn’tknow anything about Keith’s past—not really. He’d kept it that way. She knew he’d been kicked out of school, but not why. She knew he and Shiro were close, but not foster brothers. She knew Keith’s parents were out of the picture, but not that they were dead. It was that burning building thing all over again. Keith still worried that if somebody knew everything there was to know about him, the instant his shit was on fire, they wouldn’t want to save him.

            Shiro was the only exception.

            Once they’d finished the Fireball, and Romelle had come back to report everything else was good to go, Keith dismissed his team and went looking for Shiro. The encounter with Zethrid and Ezor was still churning his stomach, and he had to get it out, otherwise he’d make himself sick. Of all the places Shiro could be the day the carnival was due to open, Keith found him in their trailer, laid back on his bed, a wet washcloth over his eyes.

            “That you, Keith?”

            “Yeah,” Keith replied, voice small.

            The trailer was dark, or trying to be—all the blinds drawn and curtains pulled. Keith went to the door to Shiro’s room and leaned against the frame, not saying anything for a moment. The space was impeccably clean, the only decoration a picture of Shiro and his parents and Keith in a frame by the side of his bed. A trip to Disneyland when Keith had been fifteen, all of them too old for the theme park and looking like idiots in their mouse-ear hats. But happy. 

            “You okay?” Keith asked.

            Sighing, Shiro nodded underneath the washcloth. “Migraine,” he said, then twiddled the fingers on his bad arm. “Acting up.”

            “Sorry.”

            “Not your fault.”

            Keith didn’t reply to that. He didn’t know how. On a certain level, Shiro’s being at the carnival at all felt like his fault. Which made everything that had happened to Shiro since then his fault. God, this was a spiral. He had to pull up.

            “I saw Zethrid and Ezor at Denny’s,” he said.

            Shiro sat up as quickly as he could while in pain, drawing the washcloth away from his face to give Keith a concerned expression. It actually made Keith feel guilty for bothering Shiro when he felt like hell.

            “And?” Shiro prompted.

            Keith shrugged. “I left.”

            Shiro nodded, let his breath out, relieved probably that Keith hadn’t pulled a knife on one of them and nearly succeeded in drawing blood. Again.

            “Was Acxa with them?”

            “No.”

            But he’d run into her eventually. The carnival would be there two weeks. Eureka was small. And even Coran’s corkboard full of yarn wouldn’t put a stop to the inevitable.

            “ _You_ okay?” Shiro asked.

            Shrugging, Keith tried to play it off even though he’d come looking for Shiro so he _could_ talk about it.

            “I mean…”

            Those were the only words he got out before his throat went tight. He held back the tears, smothering and stifling them, but not fooling Shiro for one second. He scooted over on the bed and patted the place next to him. Obedient, Keith sat, but not too close. Shiro bridged the space between them anyway, placing his hand on Keith’s knee.

            “It wasn’t that bad,” Keith said once he could trust himself to talk. “They didn’t say anything, really. I got out of there pretty fast, but…”

            The threat had been there. The bad blood and the ire. Keith had seen Zethrid and Ezor a few times since they’d graduated and he’d been expelled, and those meetings hadn’t gone _well,_ but there was something about throwing Acxa into the mix that changed everything. On both ends. Today, when he’d spotted them coming into the Denny’s, his mind had gone straight to Acxa. To the slurs he’d found painted on his locker. To the faked pictures of him she’d circulated through everybody’s phones. To the death threats.

            Keith let his breath out. A few tears finally rose in his eyes.

            “I want it to go away,” he whispered.

            Smiling that sad smile of his, Shiro pulled Keith in, put an arm around his shoulders for a squeeze, then brought their foreheads together. Keith could practically feel the migraine energy radiating from Shiro’s. Keith’s brow wrinkled, and those tears slipped free, cutting two trails down his cheeks.

            “What happened wasn’t fair, Keith,” Shiro said, voice soft. “It was horrible, and it hurt, but you can’t hold onto it forever.” He let go and leaned back. “Maybe this is an opportunity to let the whole thing find its place in the past.”

            Keith simply looked at him, pouting and stung. Shiro was right, of course. Shiro was always right. But—

            “When have I ever let anything stay in the past?”

            Shiro chuckled. “There’s time to learn.”

            Sniffing, Keith looked away. He wiped his nose. He didn’t deserve Shiro, his empathy, or his kindness. He didn’t deserve much. It was only because the situation had blown up with Acxa that Shiro had learned Keith was gay. That had cut him deep. Keith could still remember the look on his face. The way his voice had wavered when he’d said, “I could have _helped_ , Keith.” It was pretty damn stupid to choose not to trust the _only_ person you trusted in a situation like that, especially when that person happened to be gay himself.

            Shiro put a comforting hand on Keith’s neck.

            “Hey,” he said. “One day at a time.”

            Keith looked over, so Shiro smiled, but the smile got interrupted by his migraine. Keith stood up, took the washcloth out of his other hand, and went into the kitchen to rinse it in cold water, wring it out, and bring it back.

            “Thanks,” Shiro said.

            Keith nodded. He brought Shiro a glass of water and the box of medication so he wouldn’t have to get up.

            “I’ll make sure nobody bothers you,” he said as Shiro laid back and replaced the washcloth.

            Shiro chuckled. “Much appreciated.”

            Quiet. Then, “Thanks.”

            “I’m always here, Keith.”

            Keith nodded, finding a subdued smile. “Much appreciated.”

 

 

Keith took a moment in the bathroom to blow his nose and make sure he wasn’t red around the eyes before leaving the trailer. As he did, he came across Hunk, who was approaching cautiously, a towel slung over one arm.

            “Shiro’s got a migraine,” Keith said.

            “Okay, no worries.” Hunk gave him a thumbs up and they came to a stop in front of each other. “Figured it was worth a shot. Denny’s stink and all.”

            Keith nodded. An awkward beat, then, “You’re still cool to use the shower, though. Later...sometime.”

            Hunk’s turn for a nod and an awkward pause. “So…” he said. “Those Zarkon guys really are bad news, then.” He kept going when Keith didn’t say anything right away. “I mean, I guess I didn’t know what to expect, but they were _scary_ intimidating, man.”

            Zethrid and Ezor had always been like that. For as long as Keith had known them.

            “I’m glad we all got out of there when we did,” Hunk said.

            Keith started when he remembered that they’d footed his part of the bill.

            “Hang on,” he said, taking a half-step toward the trailer. “Let me get some money to pay you guys back.”

            He only had his card on him, so he went inside and rooted around for the cash he kept for emergencies. He couldn’t remember how much he owed, so he grabbed a handful of fives and returned to find Hunk patiently waiting for him. But when Keith tried to hand him the money, Hunk started walking, headed for trailer six, and Keith had no choice but to fall into step.

            “Is everybody on Zarkon’s crew like that?” Hunk asked.

            “Some of them are worse,” Keith replied.

            Grimacing, Hunk settled in to think about the implications. Keith wasn’t lying—Lotor, Haggar, Zarkon himself. They were all decidedly _worse_ , though maybe not for Keith personally. His mind nearly returned to Acxa, but they’d reached trailer six by then. The door was open, and the thought was startled out of him by the yelling coming from inside. Hunk released a beleaguered sigh and mounted the steps.

            “Let go, you nasty goblin!”

            “Hey! That’s my shoe!”

            “You _wanted_ the bottom bunk. You _made_ me take the top.”

            Keith followed Hunk up the steps and poked his head inside to find Pidge gripping onto the frame of the top bunk, missing a shoe, as Lance pulled on her legs, his own braced against the mattress on the bottom, the two of them forming a triangle shape with the bunk. By the state of the rest of the trailer, this had been going on for some time.

            “Guys,” Hunk said.

            They both looked over.

            “Keith!”

            Lance’s voice shot up a couple octaves and he dropped Pidge’s ankles. With her weight no longer supported, she swung down, losing her grip as her feet slammed into the bottom bunk. The force sent her toppling into Lance, and they both fell into the bathroom.

            “Sometimes it feels like I’m the straight-man in a farce,” Hunk said.

            Pidge and Lance groaned in a pile on the bathroom floor.

            “I came to pay for breakfast,” Keith said, feeling like he’d invaded their space. He held up the bills.

            “Gimme,” Pidge said, shoving Lance to the ground as she climbed off him. She took the money from Keith and counted. “Yours was twelve seventeen, including tip. Do you want change?”

            Keith shook his head. “Take fifteen. Thanks for covering for me.”

            “Oh-ho, a little tip for _me_ then.” She took three of the fives and passed the rest to Keith. “My pleasure.”

            “You got back okay, then?” Lance asked, getting to his feet.

            Once he was upright, he looked at Keith and both of them stared at each other, the level of intimacy the question carried in its subtext suddenly and uncomfortably clear. Lance blushed and looked away; Keith continued to stare at him. It didn’t make any sense. Ever since the viewing for _Say, Speak_ , Lance had completely avoided him. Literally turned around and walked the opposite direction on multiple occasions. Did he think Keith hadn’t noticed?

            He’d chalked it up to Lance being uncomfortable with the content of the piece and wanting to avoid an awkward conversation about it, but then it had gone on for so long that Keith had decided instead that the guy probably hated him plain and simple. He’d made it clear enough. The ride to Eureka had been less than fun. But then, today, Lance had followed him out of the Denny’s. To check on him. To talk. And he’d _listened_.

            An emotion Keith had buried resurfaced then—the thing he’d felt watching the lights from the chair-o-plane swing across Lance’s face, the thing he’d felt when he’d discovered the footage of Lance winking into the camera. But he grabbed that emotion around the neck and shoved it back into the dirt.

            “I’m on the clock,” he said, leaving Lance’s question unanswered as he left.

 

Over the next hour, Keith found little respite in test-running the rides. He didn’t have anyone to talk to, and nobody to talk at him, so he spent the whole time thinking about not thinking about Lance. Like that idiotic thing where you tell someone not to picture a dog and all they can see in their mind is a dog. Lance was a dog.

            And  _woof_.

            The bastard didn’t have any right to be so pretty. Keith didn’t know what it was. The long face. The sharp features. The blue, blue eyes. That waist. Those shoulders. God, those shoulders. And those _legs_ —

            “Keith!”

            Nearly jumping out of his skin, Keith shouted, “What?!” and looked to find Coran approaching the Gravitron, which Keith had been testing.

            His boss laughed, tossing his head back. “Apologies! Quite absorbed in your work there, eh? That’s what I like to see.”

            Blushing, Keith let the assumption lie.

            “I have a fun little task to assign you.” Coran hopped gracefully onto the ride platform, but stumbled on his first step forward. Clearing his throat, he came over to the control booth and smiled at Keith. It was the smile of a man about to ask an annoying favor. Keith pursed his lips.

            “All…right…”

            “How would _you_ like to go to the _zoo?_ ”

            “Um—”

            “We need to send a member of staff to scout it—get a lay of the land, yes? Before we can make any real decisions on what to propose to Zarkon.”

            That was a task that was neither little nor fun. Keith opened his mouth to say so, but Coran plowed ahead.

            “You’re just the man for the job, I say. You understand my vision.”

            “Coran—”

            “Besides, some of the staff would like a ride out there, and who better to send than our best driver?”

            Glowering, Keith gritted his teeth. Coran batted his eyelashes. He didn’t have to _ask_ Keith to do anything. He could have just ordered him to go look at the zoo. But he hadn’t. And he wouldn’t. He had taken a risk on hiring someone with a track record like Keith’s, simply given his trust when Keith hadn’t done a thing to earn it. Shaking his head, Keith yielded.

            “What time will they be ready to go?” he asked with a sigh.

            “Hey! Good lad. I’d say the next half hour or so? I’ll bring the twelve-seater around to the front.”

            Keith nodded, so Coran gave him another cheer and another mock-punch on the shoulder, then left. Keith shut down the Gravitron, locked the control booth, and made his way slowly to the office to return the keys. Inside, Allura was studying the corkboard.

“What do you make of this?” she asked as Keith hung the Gravitron key, and all the keys he’d taken, in the box behind Shiro’s desk.

            “I doubt Zarkon will agree to it.” Keith shrugged.

            Allura pursed her lips, drawing in a deep breath. “I’m afraid I agree with you,” she said and turned from the board to offer Keith a worried expression. “Especially given the behavior of his advance team.”

            A spike of fear shot through Keith’s heart. Had the Denny’s stunt already made the rounds?

            “They gave Coran quite a bit of trouble yesterday at the grocery store,” Allura continued, and Keith let his breath out. “Enough to inspire _this._ ” She gestured at the board. “What will happen when the rest of their crew arrive?”

            Keith shook his head. “It won’t be pretty.”

            A frown overtook Allura’s features, her eyes narrowing. “No. It will be decidedly  _ugly_.”

            Shutting the key box, Keith stepped up alongside Allura, and the two of them surveyed the corkboard together. Coran had done a decent job dividing the city, ensuring access to necessary amenities for both carnivals. Zarkon wasn’t the type of person to accept half of something as a fair deal, however. They could only guess at how this proposal would be received.

            “We need to minimize contact with them as much as possible, regardless of their agreement to our plan,” Allura said.

            “We can’t control for everything,” Keith replied, thinking of breakfast.

            Allura looked at him, and her eyes were more serious than he had seen them in months. “We _must_ walk away from any conflict,” she said. “No matter how they try to provoke.”

            Swallowing, Keith nodded.

            “That is our only option,” she added.

            A peppy _beep-beep_ from a car horn sounded in front of the office, so Keith shared one final exchange of uncertain expressions with Allura before heeding the call. As promised, Coran had brought the twelve-seat van around, and he hopped from the driver’s side and tossed the keys to Keith.

            “I’ll collect everyone who wanted a ride to the zoo,” he said. “Back in a jiffy.”

Keith sat in the driver’s seat, the door open, his legs dangling out, and waited. His life was such a soap opera—chance meetings, tragic backstory, ex-friends and obnoxious love interests. He wasn’t certain anymore how much of it was a direct consequence of his own actions and how much of it was the universe or fate or whatever shitting on him like it always had. It was that word both Pidge and Ezor had said at Denny’s—serendipity. Except that the events were rarely happy or beneficial in his case.

            Coran returned trailing a line of younger staff members like a mother duck, his chest puffed out. The soap opera analogy proved true once again when Lance, Pidge, and Hunk appeared at the back of that line. Because of course.

Pidge was the first to notice who was driving the car and shouted, “Shotgun!” at the top of her lungs before taking off. Lance started and took half a step forward, but Hunk grabbed his collar and held him back. Pidge made it around the side of the van, threw open the door, and scrambled inside.

            “There’s a new sheriff in town,” she said, making a finger gun and clicking her tongue at Keith.

            He couldn’t help laughing, in spite of himself. In spite of everything.

            The rest of the staff piled into the van, Lance and Hunk the last of them. The pair slid onto the bench right behind the driver’s seat and shut the door. Once everybody was buckled, Keith started the van and headed off the lot.

 

The trip to the zoo was only ten minutes, though it would have taken an hour to walk. It occurred to Keith as he pulled into a parking space on the side of the road that by agreeing to perform the survey for Coran, it was likely he’d inadvertently signed himself up to be the shuttle to and from the zoo for the rest of the two weeks the Carnival of Lions would be in Eureka. His expression went flat just thinking about it.

            “What’s up?” Pidge asked. “Don’t like red pandas?”

            Blinking, Keith looked at her. “What? No. It’s… Coran asked me to come out here to survey the zoo so we can decide what to do about Zarkon.”

            Staff were slowly piling out of the car, leaving Keith alone with Lance and Hunk and Pidge. Hunk leaned forward to join the conversation. Lance did the same, but hesitated.

            “Survey?” Hunk asked. “What does the zoo have to do with Zarkon?”

            “Coran wants to split the city between the carnivals to minimize contact,” Keith explained. He glanced at each of them, starting when he met Lance’s eyes in particular. “And there’s only one zoo.”

            Pidge and Hunk both nodded, seeming to catch on. Lance wrinkled his nose in thought.

            “Would they even agree to something like that?” he asked.

            Keith looked at him, surprised by how socially astute the question was. Lance looked back, and a bizarre understanding passed between them. This was a futile effort. They both knew it, and Lance knew it after meeting Zethrid and Ezor _once_. Something was going to happen. It was simply a matter of when.

            “Do you want help?” Hunk asked. “Surveying the zoo, I mean.”

            “What does that even _entail?_ ” Pidge replied, opening up her door and hopping onto the asphalt. The rest of them followed her lead.

            “Coran’s not sure if he wants to divide the zoo geographically, have days we have access and days Zarkon has access, or split different times during the day,” Keith replied. He locked the van, tucking the key into his pocket as he trailed behind Pidge while she approached the entrance to the zoo.

            “Split times, obviously,” Pidge replied. “That’s the only sensible option.” She flashed a grin over her shoulder. “There. Survey done. Good deed for the day: check.”

            “No, uh-uh,” Lance said, coming up behind her. “You do _not_ have a daily good deed check-off box. Don’t make him think you do.”

            “I don’t know why you make me out to be such a villain, Lance,” Pidge said.

            Her brow wrinkled and she pouted her bottom lip like he’d actually hurt her feelings, which made Lance growl, which made Pidge laugh. She skipped away from him, right up to the ticket window. Lance flicked his gaze briefly to Keith.

            “She’s the worst,” he said. “You know that, right?”

            Keith gave him a subdued grin. “Something tells me she’s only the worst to _you_.”

            Lance halted momentarily, his mouth falling open as Keith continued forward. Lance maintained that expression of surprise until the four of them were inside the gates and Hunk and Pidge had paused to consult their fold-out park map together. Then he fixed Keith with an indignant expression, one eyebrow raised above the other. Keith’s undisciplined heart turned over at the intent contact, so he looked away.

            “You’re pretty ballsy for a guy with a mullet,” Lance said.

            Keith’s face flushed red. “You’re pretty…” He couldn’t think of anything, so that was where the sentence stopped, and they both flushed red at that. “Mouthy,” he finished.

            “Where to first, you guys?” Pidge asked, turning around, map in hand. “Any opinions? Back to front? Front to back?”

            “Back to front,” Keith and Lance said at the same time. They glanced at each other, then both took half a step away, Lance tucking his hands into his pockets. Pidge flicked her gaze between the two of them.

            “Back to front it is,” she said.

            They moved through the zoo, headed left, eventually arriving at the goats and sheep. It seemed lame to Keith to keep farm animals at a zoo, but the other three hopped right into the corral to pet them. Keith lingered outside, not keen on being close to the animals. Or the people. 

            He kept himself distant as Hunk and Lance and Pidge moved on, hanging at the back of the group as they bounced from exhibit to exhibit. It was that, or walk around the zoo by himself, and that sounded twice as humiliating. Besides, in keeping himself disconnected, he gained a better understanding of the layout of the zoo, its functionality. Just as he was thinking he would report to Coran that there was no way to split the place geographically between the two carnivals, three figures appeared ahead of them on the walkway next to the yaks.

            His heart stopped.

            No.

            His legs froze in place.

            _No._

            His mouth went dry and his lungs filled with cotton.

            _Please god no._

            Lance noticed him fall behind and flipped around, a question on his face.

            “Keith?”

            He saw the state Keith was in, and turned his head to follow his gaze. When his eyes landed on Zethrid and Ezor, he stopped walking as well. When they landed on Acxa, his spine stiffened. Like he’d recognized her somehow.

            Keith had recognized her. That was for damn sure. He would never forget what she looked like. Even though she’d dyed her hair purple and no longer wore it pulled back. Even though her bangs fell into her eyes. He knew their amber glint. He knew the quirk of her mouth. Forget the dark lipstick, forget the black clothing. He knew Acxa. And she knew him.

            They stared at each other.

            “Oo!” Ezor cried, shattering the atmosphere. “Twice in one day! It _is_ serendipity.”

            “Oh,  _crap_ ,” Hunk said, finally noticing the advance team.

            He took a half-step backward, reaching after Pidge to bring her to a halt. But even as they paused, Zethrid and Ezor came forward. The women stopped a few feet in front of Hunk and Pidge, creating a stretch of no-man’s land between them. Acxa lingered at the back, shielded partially like Keith was.

            “Who are your friends, Mr. Flippity?” Ezor chimed, flashing a sharp smile at Hunk and Pidge and Lance. Her eyes lingered longest on the latter.

            “Don’t answer, Keith,” Lance growled.

            Ezor laughed. “Protective,” she said. “I’ll call you Mama Bear.” Then she pointed at Hunk and Pidge in turn. “Little John. Robin Hood.”

            Pidge raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to be insulted by that?” she asked.

            Shrugging, Ezor offered a closed-mouth smile. Zethrid sneered to make up for it, green lips dragging across her teeth as they lifted.

            “Bold words for someone the size of a fifth grader,” she said.

            “Sure, but at least I’m smarter than one,” Pidge replied.

            Zethrid’s sneer turned into a snarl, and she narrowed her eyes as Ezor tipped her head back and laughed.

            “You’re funny, Robin Hood,” Ezor chimed.

            Other words were exchanged, but Keith didn’t hear them. His eyes had returned to Acxa, whose own eyes were fixed on the ground. Pulse pounding hard in his chest, his mind reeled through memories of things that had happened four years ago. He remembered sitting across from her on the couch in her basement, their faces flushed, hair messy, hearts racing, Keith finally pushed too far, his shirt lost somewhere among the cushions and pillows, Acxa staring at him, her face inches away—only as far back as he’d moved her to finally let the words slip free.

            “I think I’m gay,” he’d said.

            She’d continued to stare.

            Swallowing, he’d tried to say something else, but his tongue felt too big for his mouth and there wasn’t anything to add. Her eyes never left his face.

            “No,” she’d said. “No. You’re my boyfriend.”

            They’d been together a year. He’d started dating her as a cover, or maybe some vain attempt to convince himself he liked girls. But after a year, he’d acknowledged reality, and Acxa had wanted more and more from him—things he wasn’t able to give. He shouldn’t have let the lie go on as long as it had. He shouldn’t have started it in the first place. But he was fifteen and an idiot. And scared.

            Things hadn’t gone south immediately. Acxa had still wanted to make it work, refusing to believe Keith was telling the truth, convinced he was lying because he wanted to end the relationship for some other reason. Eventually she’d had her come-to-Jesus moment, and that was when shit had officially hit the fan.

            He remembered walking up to the school. Seeing the hand-painted banner hung across the entrance.

            _Keith Kogane Is A Lying, Gay Bastard_

            She’d been deliberate enough to add the comma.

            “What are you staring at, Kogane?” Zethrid rumbled, finally bringing him back to the present. His gaze flicked to her, and her lip curled back, exposing a sharp incisor. He remembered Zethrid’s glee as she’d come up behind him while he’d stared at that banner and asked what he thought of their handiwork. Anger flared in his breast—a temper he’d never learned to tame.

            “You know exactly what I’m staring at,” he replied through his teeth. He tipped his chin at Acxa. “Too fragile to talk to me yourself?”

            Acxa’s jaw tightened, and she lifted her gaze to him finally, unfathomable hatred in her eyes. He didn’t blame her for that, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the same way. Allura’s warning to walk away from any conflict briefly entered his mind, but he pushed it out. Seeing Acxa in person was too much.

            “Why should I talk to you?” Acxa spat.

            “I don’t know—maybe to _apologize?_ ” Keith stepped forward, pushing through Hunk and Lance to toe the line on their side of the no-man’s land.

            “I’m not sorry,” Acxa replied. She stayed behind Zethrid.

            “You  _ruined_ my life.”

            “You threatened me!” she shot back.

            Hunk glanced between the two of them. “Woah, what?”

            “The only reason I even _had_ that knife was because of you, Acxa,” Keith shouted. “Because _you_ made me afraid to come to school without _something_ to defend myself. _You_ threatened _me_.”

            “Keith, man, hey. Calm down.”

            It barely even registered with Keith that Lance had spoken.

            “Who left the death threats in my locker, Acxa?” he continued. “Who got every asshole in the school to write me notes to kill myself?”

            “Well, maybe you should have _listened_ _to them!_ ”

            Keith’s vision went red. He dissociated from his body as his feet stepped across the threshold into the no-man’s land, his hands rolling up his sleeves, his teeth grinding. He’d only gone a few steps before there were hands on his shoulders, pulling him back. Hunk and Lance.

            “Keith, hey, woah, man, don’t,” Lance said. His and Hunk’s arms were loops around Keith’s that he could barely feel. “She’s not worth it.”

            Acxa’s nose wrinkled, and she clicked her tongue. At some point, Zethrid and Ezor had stuck their arms out to block her. “Found some new keepers, Keith?”

            Hunk and Lance tightened their grip on him, but he didn’t fight. He shot Acxa a look full of so much venom it would have poisoned her had that been possible. She laughed, harsh and barking, looking down on him.

            “You’re so pathetic.”

            Keith clenched his jaw.

            “Can’t control yourself.”

            He glared.

            “Stupid lying foster-care faggot.”

            That.

            That word bit into him like teeth. He deflated, and the world slowed, and as it did, he returned to his body, and as he returned to his body, he felt Lance’s arms drop from around his. He looked to the side, and Lance was moving forward. His teeth bared, his shoulders hunched, and Keith watched, dazed, as Lance crossed the distance between them and the advance team. Time picked up again as he reached Acxa, about to do what, Keith didn’t know, but Zethrid caught him and pushed him back. Lance was undeterred.

            “Not cool, _chica_ ,” he said, sounding legitimately angry even if the words he’d picked were far from intimidating. “ _Not cool_.”

            Zethrid moved to grab him again as he came forward, but he was ready for her, ducking. He was surprisingly quick. Quick enough to dodge as she threw a punch. Quick enough to land a return of his own.

            The crack of his fist meeting her jaw echoed through the park. Shocked, Zethrid stumbled back. Open-mouthed, everyone stared at Lance. He shook his fingers out.

            “ _Ow._ ”

            Howling a battle cry, Zethrid launched herself at Lance. He didn’t stand a chance. Her right fist connected with his chin from below, her left gathering his shirt in her strong fingers. She yanked him forward, yanked his nose into her fist. There was a pop, followed by blood, followed by Zethrid dropping Lance to the concrete where he landed on his ass. She took a step toward him, readying a kick, but a zoo security guard saw her and shouted, “Hey!” from about a hundred feet away. He started toward them.

            Zethrid spat at Lance’s feet, then bolted, Acxa and Ezor following in her tracks.

            “Catch you on the flip side!” Ezor called with a cheery laugh.

            Keith hurried to Lance, grabbing one of the guy’s arms and hoisting it around his shoulders.

            “Get up, get up,” he said, pulling Lance to his feet. “Come on, get up. We gotta go.”

            Lance was stunned still, bright red running from his nose over his lips down his chin onto his shirt. He couldn’t get his feet underneath him, but Keith pushed ahead anyway. A couple of steps, and Hunk got himself under Lance’s other side. Pidge ran ahead, cutting a trail through the gathering crowd.

            The guard shouted to stop, but Keith knew better. They put the park behind them, tossed Lance into the van, and sped away before the guard had even made it out the gate.

            “Holy  _shit_ ,” Pidge exhaled. She laughed a nervous laugh. “ _Lance._ ”

            “Don’t bleed on the upholstery, man,” Hunk said, forcing Lance to tilt his head back.

            “There’s napkins in the glove compartment,” Keith said, breathless.

            Pidge scrambled into the front seat and rooted around in the compartment, grabbing a fistful of Wendy’s napkins, half of which she handed to Hunk. Keith watched in the rearview as they carefully doctored Lance, holding napkins to his face, wiping off his neck. Lance’s eyes met Keith’s in the mirror, and the guy grinned.

            Keith couldn’t help grinning back.  

 

Ten minutes later, Keith stealthily brought the van to a stop at the back of the fairgrounds, near the residential trailers and behind a copse of trees. He turned off the ignition and looked back at Pidge and Hunk and Lance.

            “Don’t say a word to Allura or Coran. If they ask, Lance fell into the goat corral and we had to bring him back. I’ll go pick everyone else up when we’re finished.”

            Pidge and Hunk nodded. Lance groaned.

            “You two go find him a change of clothes. I’ve got a first-aid kit in my trailer. Ready?”

            Another firm nod from Pidge and Hunk and the two of them exited the vehicle like a pair of FBI agents. Lance eased himself out of the backseat, still holding a set of napkins to his face though the bleeding had likely stopped.

            “Follow me,” Keith said.

            Together, the two of them walked as quickly as they could to Keith and Shiro’s trailer. Lance was wobbly—his hand slightly swollen, the skin on the middle knuckle broken, a deep bruise already forming on the underside of his chin. Keith kept an eye out for Coran until the two of them were safe inside the trailer.   

            The curtains were pulled still, but Shiro had gone, so the inside was dark and warm and quiet. Lance flopped into the breakfast nook and leaned his head back, moaning. Keith retrieved the first aid kit from under the sink.

            “My nose better not be broken,” Lance said, voice stuffy with clotted blood.

            Keith brought the kit to the table and opened the lid. “Move the napkins,” he said.

            Lance’s brows drew together.

            “Do you want to know or not?”

            Sighing, squeezing his eyes shut, Lance obliged. His face was a mess with dried, cracked blood, his nose swollen and already bruising, but otherwise in good condition. Perfect condition. Lance had a nice nose.

            “Looks fine to me,” Keith said, and Lance let out a sigh of relief. “But we should tape it, just to be sure.”

            “Whatever you say, doc,” Lance replied. He slung one arm across the table, one over the backrest of the nook and went limp, tension leaving his limbs. He sighed, then flicked his gaze to Keith, who was cutting a roll of tape, and grinned. “Some fight, huh?”  

            “Had your ass handed to you,” Keith replied, but smiled, too.

            “I’m surprised I landed that first hit, if I’m honest,” Lance said, unconsciously flexing the fingers on his injured hand, then wincing. “That chick is like a tank.”

            Keith nodded. “She threw javelin. In high school.”

            Pursing his lips, Lance mused. “Why am I not surprised?”

            The two of them went quiet, Keith measuring strips of tape and placing them on the edge of the table, Lance in pain. Keith found an antiseptic wipe in the kit and opened it, moving to clean Lance’s nose before he processed what he was doing. He hesitated, heart sending a wave of nervous ice through his veins, but Lance didn’t shy away. Lance didn’t look cognizant enough to do anything other than sit and let someone attend to him, his eyes half-lidded. Drawing in a breath, Keith pressed forward.

            “Thanks, man,” Lance said, soft, as Keith brushed the wipe over the bridge of his nose with a gentle hand. The fabric came away copper.

            Keith shook his head. “I owe you,” he said.

            Quiet for a moment, then,

            “Why did you do that?”

            Lance opened his eyes. Looked at Keith. Swallowed. He shrugged, the slightest movement of his shoulders.

            “Just…got mad, I guess,” he said.

            He laughed like he was trying to convince himself that that was the truth, but it faded. Keith finished with the wipe and took half a step back to wait for Lance’s skin to dry, watching as the guy looked away and chewed on some unspoken statement that desperately wanted to come out.

            “I’m bi,” he said.

            Keith raised his eyebrows.

            “But I’m not, like, _out_ -out, you know? I just—some people know, but not everybody. Hunk doesn’t know. Pidge does. My family… I’m not—like you—I’m not brave? Enough? I don’t know. I guess I just felt like I had to do something because…well…because I _had_ to. Because being _out_ shouldn’t give other people the right to say things like that.”

            He looked at Keith. Keith stared at him. Nobody had ever come to his defense before. Nobody but Shiro. Nobody had ever spoken such wonderful words.

Keith was still staring, so Lance laughed in discomfort, and the sound of it made Keith want to sit down in his lap and tongue kiss him into oblivion. His heart beat hard and fast in his chest, making him dizzy. He swallowed and tried to regain control of the situation by plucking one of the pieces of tape from the table and stepping up to bridge it tight across Lance’s nose. But Lance leaned into his touch a little, and Keith only just stopped his knees from going weak.

            “Thanks,” he said, voice hoarse.  He cleared his throat. “I…thought you hated me.”

            “ _What?_ ”

            Keith smirked, finishing the tape and wiping the rest of the dried blood from Lance’s face and throat. “How else was I supposed to interpret you avoiding me?”

            He flicked his eyes up to meet Lance’s, and the latter turned a little pink. Lance swallowed, throat bobbing underneath Keith’s fingers.

            “I don’t hate you,” he whispered.

            There was a knock at the door, so Keith left Lance in the breakfast nook to answer it. Pidge and Hunk ducked into the trailer, still in SWAT mode. They had a fresh set of clothes, a toothbrush and paste, and several rolls of gauze between them.

            “Are you clean? Get changed,” Pidge said, pulling Lance to his feet and shoving him toward the bathroom. “I can get the blood out if it doesn’t set.”

            She pressed the clothes into his arms, ushered him to the bathroom—though he was hardly steady—and shut the door behind him.

            “Leave the dirty stuff in the sink,” she said.

            “What’s the gauze for?” Keith asked.

            Hunk looked down at the rolls in his arms, then back at Keith.

            “Oh, we found it in our trailer,” he said. “We thought we’d bring it. Just in case.”

            Keith gave a small smile. Good friends. He wondered what that was like.

            Lance emerged from the bathroom then, pulling his new shirt on over his head, careful to avoid his neck and nose. Keith caught himself watching and looked away before Lance could do the same. Pidge pushed into the bathroom, mumbling something about getting the bloody clothes under cold water. Hunk offered Lance the toothbrush and paste.

            “Thanks, buddy,” Lance said and went to the kitchen sink.

            None of them said anything while he brushed. Pidge was busy washing; Lance’s mouth was full. Neither Hunk nor Keith had anything of value to offer. Eventually, Lance spit and rinsed and turned around to flash them both a smile.

            “Good as new,” he said.

            The bruise on his chin by then had settled into a dull purple. The ones around his nose were still a sickly yellow. The swelling had not gone down in the slightest. Frankly, he was a wreck, but there was something about it, about the way he carried himself in spite of it, that earned Keith’s respect. He never would have thought that he could respect _Lance_ for anything.

            Hunk shook his head. “Is Coran really gonna buy that you fell into the goat enclosure and landed on your face in two places at once?”

            “It wouldn’t exactly be outside Lance’s purview,” Pidge put in from the bathroom.

            Lance glared at her through the wall, but said nothing. She emerged, holding his dripping shirt and pants. They were clean.

            “Woah. How’d you do that?” Lance asked, taking the shirt from her to inspect it.

            “Killed a man once,” Pidge replied, then laughed when Keith raised his eyebrows at her. “Nah. Just got a wicked period, _mon frere_.”

            Both Keith and Hunk shied away slightly, embarrassed, but Lance just nodded, unfazed.

            “Thanks, Pidge.”

            “Anytime.” She turned to Keith. “You should probably get back to the zoo. Before the others panic that the van’s not there.”

            Keith jolted, locating the keys in his pocket and already heading for the exit. Hunk and Pidge and Lance followed his lead, shutting the door behind them. Pidge and Hunk moved off, likely headed to their trailer to put the rolls of gauze away. Lance lingered while Keith went back up to lock the door. As Keith turned, they regarded each other in heavy silence for a moment.

            “I don’t hate you,” Lance said again, resuming their conversation.

            Keith nodded, looking at his feet.

            “I’m sorry I made you think I did.”

            Keith shut his eyes and drew in a long breath. “Thanks.”

            “So, are we, like…cool, then?”

            He couldn’t help the slight smile that came to his face. God, the guy was dense. Keith looked up and let him see that fraction of a smile.

            “Yeah, we’re cool,” he said.

            The statement brought a grin to Lance’s face. A grin through the bruises, or perhaps because of them. Bruises he’d taken for Keith. Running into that burning building.

            “Cool,” Lance said.

            Keith’s heart twisted, pained and happy. He went down the steps, gestured with his head in the vague direction of the van.

            “I should go.”

            Nodding, Lance stepped back. “Hopefully nobody else fell into the goat corral.”

            Keith couldn’t help but laugh.

            “Hopefully.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the MASSIVE delay in updating. I've been in the middle of a move from the UK to the US, so things have been WILD over here, but are finally settling down, so I have time to write again. 
> 
> As ever, I live for your comments. HIT ME WITH THEM.
> 
> (Also, here is my formal apology to Acxa for turning her into quite the raging beeyotch for my selfish dramatic purposes. R.I.P.)


	7. Spinning Threads to Your Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which food features very prominently for some reason.

By some stroke of luck, Lance managed to avoid running into Allura or Coran the day following his royal ass-kicking. The facial swelling had pretty much gone down, leaving him with some gnarly bruises and a couple strips of tape across his nose, by the time he showed up in the office on Thursday to clock in. Allura still gasped when she saw him.

            “What happened?” she asked, setting down the files she had in her hands and emerging from behind her desk to inspect the damage.

            “Oh, I, um…the goat corral. At the zoo.” Was it goats? Had it been goats? He hoped so, otherwise their little quartet would get caught in their symphony of lies real quick. He gave Allura a winning smile. “Got up on the fence. Fell off. Like this?”

            He made a sad attempt to demonstrate, using his hands as a visual aid, trying to communicate something like him tipping over the railing, hitting his chin on one of the bars, and then landing on his nose, but it got jumbled halfway through, so he gave up. Allura let her breath out all the same.

            “Thank goodness,” she said. “We won’t have to fill out an incident report.”

            Lance’s veneer faltered, expression going flat. And here he’d thought she’d been worried about his well-being.

            With a pitying smile, Allura placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring pat. “You look as though you’ve been well cared for at the very least,” she said and stepped back to return to her work.  

            “Yeah, Keith…” Lance started, but the rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat.

            He’d tried to lie to himself all the rest of Tuesday and Wednesday, repeating over and over in his head that he’d been delirious the whole time, that he couldn’t really remember much after Zethrid had knocked him back, but _alas_ , the event was seared into his memory. Not Zethrid so much as Keith. Keith flashing him a smile in the rearview. Keith cleaning the blood off his face. Keith staring at him with those beautiful, dark, dusky, beautiful eyes. Did he already say beautiful? Well, they were. Lance melted a little just thinking about them.

            “Keith…?” Allura prompted.

            Lance jolted to attention. “He—uh—helped me out. After driving me back. First-aid, and all that.” He blushed and hoped she didn’t see.

            Allura smiled kindly, offering a nod. “I’m glad.”

            He cleared his throat. “I’d better, um, clock in.”

            She gave him a naturally-you-idiot smile, then severed her attention from him entirely to go back to whatever sorting she’d been doing. Lance went to the little punch-in machine on the wall and typed his employee number, clocked in to the system, then checked the schedule posted next to it to see where he was stationed for the day.

            Drown the Clown shy booth until one.

            Break for lunch.

            Fireball operation until six.

            His heart flipped at being stationed on the rides, though of course he should have expected it. He combed the list for Keith’s name, too, knowing he wouldn’t find it. Team leaders had a different schedule.

            “Who’s, um…who’s leading the areas today?” he asked, trying to sound disinterested.

            Allura jolted. “I completely forgot to post the schedule,” she said. The files she’d been holding practically dematerialized from her hands as she hunted down the area leader doc. She found it on her desk and rushed to Lance’s side to tack it to the wall. “I’m so glad you asked. It’s been difficult to keep everything up with Shiro out.”

            “What happened to Shiro?” Lance asked.

            “Migraines,” Allura replied. “It happens from time to time.”

            A particular expression crossed her face, one that said both, “You’re on the clock,” and “This conversation is now finished.” Lance nodded and left the office immediately.

            The Drown the Clown booth was a pretty easy run, but that was true of most of the shy games. True of most of the day-to-day duties of the carnival, in all honesty. It was nice to have a relatively low-stress job where he got to chat with people, be friendly and put on a customer service face that was more about fun than service.

            Pidge had the booth across the way from him—Pick a Duck—and the two of them spent a good portion of the time making faces at each other.

            “You found a way to rig that one yet?” Lance shouted.

            “ _Lance!_ ” Pidge shrieked back. “Job! Retention!”

            He just laughed, refocused his attention on a passing family and did his best goofy carnival worker voice, gesticulating at his booth and successfully luring them in with whatever weird words had come out of his mouth. He was happy today. Happier than he’d been in a long time.

            “What happened to your face?” the winning kid asked as Lance passed over the stuffed shark prize he’d picked.

            “Pirates,” Lance said with a wink.

            The kid grinned, exposing a missing front incisor, and scurried off to take his mom’s hand as they walked away. Lance watched, half-smiling, a little pang of homesickness pinging off the side of his heart but not dampening his mood.

            “You’re pretty chipper today,” Pidge remarked as the pair of them met up outside their booths for lunch.

            Lance shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets while he walked.

            “More chipper than usual…” she pressed.

            “Do you typically catch fish with such crappy bait, Santiago?”

            Pidge screwed up her face. “Santiago?”

            “ _The Old Man and the Sea?_ ”

            “What the _actual living hell?_ You’re making _literature_ references now?” Pidge practically dragged her hands down the length of her face as she groaned. “You didn’t even _pay attention_ in ninth grade English. You spent the whole year flirting with Katie Ramirez.”

            “I pay attention when Cuba is involved,” he replied with a cheeky smile. 

            Pidge just shook her head.

            The two of them arrived at the staff eating area and were promptly waved down by Hunk who had snagged a good table in the shade. Shiro truly was a schedule wizard and had managed to get them all on the same lunch hour. It was a shame about his migraines. Lance would have to stop by and see if he was doing all right. Maybe talk to Keith while he was there…

            A finger poked into his side and he yelped, looking down at Pidge.

            “What are you thinking about?” she asked. “Your face went all gooey.”

            Lance blushed, but was quick to suppress the flush from his face.

            “Nothing,” he said and wished it hadn’t come out squeaky.

            Pidge narrowed her eyes. Thankfully, Hunk came to the rescue with a change in topics.

            “I saw the poster for Zarkon’s carnival,” he said.

            Pidge dialed in right away. “What? When?”

            “This morning,” Hunk replied, “at the grocery store. I went to pick up some eggs and there was one hung up in the window.”

            “What did it look like? Was it as nice as ours? What’s their arrival date?”

            “The poster didn’t have a date…”

            “What in the hell kind of carnival doesn’t tell you when it’s gonna be somewhere?”

            “Swear-y today,” Lance said with a chuckle. She ignored him.

            “Was it cool?” she asked.

            Hunk just blinked at her. “What?”

            “The poster. Was it cool?”

            “I don’t know, Pidge. I guess? It was fine. Just a poster. Very purple.”

            “Purple…”

            Pidge put her hand over her mouth and lowered her chin, thinking very, very intently. Her eyes narrowed and her nose wrinkled like purple held some kind of deep significance and she was the only one who could unlock the secret. Hunk and Lance exchanged shrugs while she was quiet, but Lance’s thoughts soon turned elsewhere. The poster must have been put up by Zethrid, Ezor, or Acxa. He chewed the inside of his bottom lip. Somebody—maybe not him—but somebody needed to teach those people a lesson. If not for his sake, then for Keith’s.

            And speak of the devil.

            No sooner had Lance thought _Keith_ than Keith himself appeared, entering the far side of the circle of tables with Romelle. Lance hadn’t seen him since they’d talked on his stoop, and his throat went tight as his heart performed an unpracticed somersault. Even in the stupid staff t-shirt, Keith looked good. Real good. Damn good. Unfairly and ridiculously good. Messy black hair practically glowing in the sunshine. Those friggin’ fingerless gloves.

            Suddenly, Pidge sat up with a start, elevating herself into Lance’s line of sight, sniffing. Lance jumped

            “Do you smell that?” she asked.

            He gave a tentative sniff, but didn’t smell anything. “What?”   

            Pidge kept sniffing—big theatrical snuffs that sounded in the back of her throat as she turned her nose around in the air like a dog. Lance couldn’t help following her lead, but literally couldn’t smell anything.

            “Oh,” she said as her nose led her to Lance. “I know what it is.” She grinned wickedly right into his face. “ _Pine._ ”

            Lance’s mouth fell open and his face went _red_. It was all he could do not to shove Pidge back into her seat, extract his legs from the table, and straight up bolt. She’d pegged his attraction to Keith from day one, though it had taken _him_ until then to even admit it. He should have known she’d sense the shift. She was surprisingly perceptive for someone who claimed not to understand human interaction.

            Hunk drew in a deep breath, then shook his head. “I don’t smell it either.”

            Thankfully, Pidge left it at that, though she did give Lance an irritating, smug sort of smile out of the corner of her eye.

            The three of them parted ways after lunch, and it wasn’t until then that Lance realized he hadn’t checked the stupid team leaders schedule after Allura had put it up. Neither had she answered his question after he’d asked. He made his way to the Fireball, heart creeping up his throat into his mouth, anxious over wondering if Keith would be around, or if he wouldn’t. The whole “not knowing” bit was the worst part about it.

            _Wanting_ him to be around was also mildly irritating.

            He took over for a girl whose name he’d probably been told, but had forgotten. Before leaving, she made a big point of making sure he knew where the walkie-talkie was in case he needed to radio somebody for an emergency. She frankly seemed a little nervous, too nervous for an operator of heavy machinery. Lance got caught up in worrying about her well-being for a second and didn’t notice Keith’s approach until the guy was right at the bottom of the stairs up to the ride.

            “Hey,” Keith said, offering a fraction of a smile. Just the corner of his mouth quirked up. Made Lance’s heart stutter. “I’m team leader this shift. Channel two.”

            He pointed at the walkie clipped to his hip, bending a little at the waist. Lance tried not to check out his butt as he did.

            “You good for now?”

            Lance nodded, dumb, distracting himself with checking to make sure the radio in the operator’s booth was set to the right channel even though he knew that it was.

            “Yeah, good. Definitely good. _You_ good?”

            He glanced at Keith and Keith was smirking in this way that had Lance’s heart going several different directions at once. Jeeze he’d need to get that under control if he was going to survive the summer. Or the next twenty-four hours.

            “I’m good,” Keith replied. “Let me know when you want to take your fifteen.”

            Like that, he was gone, and for a second Lance swore he _could_ smell pine.

 

The Fireball was a seriously weird ride. Just one big sixty-foot circle that stood on its edge. The carts went around the inside, rocking back and forth along the track before turning infinite inversions—well, infinite if Lance had never stopped the thing. He contemplated it a few times, letting the ride just go and go and go. When Keith arrived to cover for his fifteen, the first thing Lance said was, “Do you think you could kill somebody on this?”

            Keith raised his eyebrows, a startled laugh jumping from his mouth. “What?”

            “Like if you never stopped it. Would that kill the riders?”

            Mounting the steps and leaning against the door into the operator’s booth, Keith pursed his lips in contemplation. “The g-forces wouldn’t kill you. Not on this model. But the blood rushing to your head might.” He edged Lance out of the booth. “Ever ridden a Fireball?”

            Lance shook his head.

            “You should,” Keith replied. “It’s my favorite.”

            Starting, Lance did a poor job disguising how high his eyebrows rose. Sure, he and Keith were “cool”, but he hadn’t expected the guy to be _actively_ friendly. Especially considering what he’d been like before. Learning Keith’s favorite ride felt bizarrely personal. An unanticipated gate had opened. Lance was being permitted entry into that black-and-white-to-color world. And Keith wasn’t done blowing his mind yet.

            “Once, my first year here, we had a contest to see who could go the most rounds,” he said. His fingers traced absently over the buttons on the operation board, and he laughed. “Shiro did, I think, seven before tapping out?”

            “How many did you do?” Lance asked.

            Keith smirked. “Ten.”

            “Holy _crow_.”

            Keith laughed again, loud and genuine. Part of Lance curled up and died at the sound of it. So bright and unexpected. A shy curtain had been hung across Keith’s face when he looked at Lance again and spoke.

            “Anyway, you should try it,” he said. “When you get a chance.”

            Nodding, Lance took a step toward the stairs. “Maybe I’ll challenge you to your crown.”

            Keith’s eyes flashed with an excited, competitive fire. “Oh. Cocky.”

            Lance grinned. “You betcha.”

            “All right, then. You’re on. You wanna shake on it?”

            He did. He very much did. Lance put his hand out whip-fast, and Keith took it, shaking firmly with an air of assured confidence. Lance’s gut turned over at his touch.

            “I’ll have to ask Pidge how many inversions will kill me,” Lance said. “I’m not gonna die just to de-throne you.”

            Keith laughed. “If anyone will know the answer to that question, it’s Pidge.”

            As a matter of fact, Pidge _did_ know, though the way her eyes lit up as she started to describe it that evening after she and Lance were both off their shifts was more than a tad unsettling.

            “ _Actually,_ ” she began, spreading her hands out in front of her, “this designer named Julijonas Urbonas created an art concept called the Euthanasia Coaster that’s _made_ to kill you.”

            Lance’s mouth fell open. “What the _hell?_ ”

            “It’s a drop hill followed by seven inversions that put you through ten g for sixty seconds. Basically, your brain gets deprived of oxygen and you lose consciousness, then—” Pidge snapped her fingers to indicate death, looking a little too happy about it.

            “And did they put this man in _jail?_ ” Lance replied, appalled.

            Pidge shook her head. “He won the New Technological Art Award for it.”

            “Are you kidding me?”

            “Of course not.” Pidge mounted the steps to their trailer and unlocked the door. “It’s a pretty elegant concept if you think about it.”

            Lance did not want to dwell on the elegance or ugliness of literally murdering people via roller coaster any longer than was necessary. Particularly when the whole reason he’d asked was to find out if the stupid Fireball would kill him. Now he wasn’t so sure he wanted to get on another roller coaster ever again.

            “So…seven is deadly?” he asked, wondering how Keith had done ten.

            “Not automatically,” Pidge replied. “The coaster with the world record for number of inversions has twice that. It’s the g-force what counts.”

            She went to the kitchenette and stood on her tiptoes to fish a glass out of the cabinet over the sink, then filled it at the faucet. Lance kicked off his shoes and collapsed into the booth. Pidge set the water on the table before sliding it the short distance into his hand.

            “Thanks, barkeep,” Lance said.

            “Why do you ask?”

            “Huh?”

            Pidge glanced over her shoulder as she reached for another glass. “About roller coaster inversions. Why do you ask?”

            “Oh, um…”

            Picking up his glass, Lance hid behind a sip. Pidge did not remove her eyes from his face—not as she scrambled a hand around in the cupboard, not as she located a glass and lowered back to her feet, not as she reached blindly for the handle on the faucet and turned the water on, or soaked her hand trying to find the stream to fill her cup. She just full-on stared at him, like she knew somehow what his answer was going to be. And he couldn’t use the sip as cover for long.

            “I sort of—um—challenged Keith to see who could go longer on the Fireball? And I don’t want to die?”

            In a flash, Pidge was right in front of him, nose a mere centimeter from his, eyes glinting.

            “So you _do_ like him,” she said.

            “What?” Lance asked, but his cheeks were already hot. Pidge barked a laugh and slapped a hand on the table.

            “I _knew_ it!”

            “I never said—”

            “You didn’t deny it!” She held up a menacing finger. “Lack of denial’s as good as admission.”

            Lance glared at her, but the expression just made her giggle. She scampered over to her side of the table, doing some sort of weird jig, and climbed into the booth, her knees up by her face. She grabbed her glass, pulled it close, retrieved a straw from the cutlery holder, unwrapped it, and leaned forward to sip like a girl drinking a milkshake in a nostalgic fifties ad.

            “Spill,” she said.

            Blushing, Lance looked at his lap.

            “Go on, spill.”

            Pidge flapped her hand at him, and he stammered for a moment before finding something to say.

            “He’s _really_ cute, Pidge.”

            “An Adonis,” she replied. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

            Lance didn’t know what else to say. He’d only just admitted to himself that he had a crush on Keith. It was still kind of overwhelming. Pidge took his silence as a bad thing. She sat back, straw falling from her mouth, and regarded him solemnly.

            “Sorry,” she said, voice soft. “Did I overstep?”

            Starting, Lance looked up. “What? No. I mean…”

            Their friendship wasn’t really based on talking about attractions either—with the exclusion of Pidge criticizing Lance’s generally flirtatious nature. They had had about as many discussions about crushes as they had serious topics. It just didn’t come up between them, so they didn’t have a framework for how to proceed. Or maybe it was that the framework they did have was insufficient. Lance flirts, Pidge mocks, Lance flirts more anyway. That was usually how it went. This was different.

            “I don’t _not_ want to talk about it,” Lance said. “I just…don’t know how.”

            “It is uncharted territory,” Pidge replied. She swirled her straw around and took another sip. “Can I make an observation?”

            “Sure.”

            “The way you interact with him isn’t your MO,” she said.

            Lance sat back. He hadn’t really thought about that. The most flirting he’d done with (re: at) Keith had taken place that afternoon, and it didn’t even approach his usual level. Come to think of it, had Keith flirted back? Lance’s heart compacted, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t know how to read guys that well, and Keith was a hard guy to read.  

            “What’s different?” Pidge asked.

            Pursing his lips, Lance thought for a second. “ _He’s_ different.”

            Slowly, Pidge sat up. The two of them regarded each other across the table. Distant carnival sounds—music and rides and people—filled the gap. They seemed to understand somehow, Pidge and Lance, that there was more to the statement than Lance’s simple assessment of Keith. That the difference lay not only in the subject of Lance’s attraction, but the nature of that attraction, and not only its unfamiliarity on the surface, but the depth that it carried as well. The real potential. This wasn’t just one uncharted territory, it was three.

            “Are you gonna tell Hunk?” Pidge asked.

            A frigid dread swept through Lance. Hunk was one of his best friends, and while Lance trusted him implicitly, something about “coming out”, about exposing that part of yourself to anyone, would always be terrifying. You could think you knew how people would take it. But you didn’t. Not really.

            Thing was, he couldn’t pursue Keith and not tell Hunk.

            He opened his mouth, but a thought gave him pause.

            Pursue…?

            Was he seriously thinking about _pursuing_ Keith? And why was _that_ the word that came to mind? He scrunched up his face.

            “What?” Pidge asked.

            He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked at her. “I don’t know what to do.”

            And that was not something he liked.

 

Hunk arrived at trailer six about half an hour later, and Lance’s initial anxiety over his entrance was quickly lost under general excitement about dinner. Hunk had managed to talk the chefs into sharing their supplies again. These he ceremoniously placed on the counter before puffing out his chest and putting his hands on his hips.

            “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I present to you exhibits A through G.”

            Lance peered at the various Ziploc baggies of dried spices, miscellaneous vegetables, unidentifiable meats, and other sundries. Pidge did as well, though she picked a few of them up.

            “Hunk, what is all this?” she asked.

            Hunk just winked. “You’ll see.”

            He rarely let people outside of his family help, and it would have been impossible to assist in the tiny kitchenette—quite literally too many cooks—so Pidge and Lance sat tight while Hunk worked his magic. They didn’t have long to wait before three plates of pad thai appeared on the table. Particularly impressive given the trailer’s overall lack of decent kitchen tools.

            “Nothing will ever convince me that you’re not a transmutation wizard,” Pidge said.

            They sat and started greedily into the meal.

            “So when’s your ride to the death with Keith scheduled?” Pidge asked, shoveling noodles into her mouth.

            “Ride to the death?” Hunk asked. His eyebrows puckered in concern.

            “Lance challenged Keith to see who could go the most rounds on the Fireball.”

            “Okay, but to the _death?_ ”

            “Long story,” Lance jumped in. “And we didn’t pick a time. We just shook on it is all.” He didn’t miss the mischievous, glinting grin Pidge gave him, so he spilled some more words out to cover it up. “Plus, some other people might want to get in on it, I don’t know. Like Shiro. Though probably not with his migraines…”

            Hunk frowned. “Still?”  

            And that was how they found themselves in WinCo, buying way too many chocolate-covered cinnamon bears in bulk.

            “For the last time, Lance, we _don’t_ need a cart,” Pidge said as she scooped another monstrous helping of candy into a flimsy plastic bag before tying it off. She hefted the thing out of the bulk container and it sagged dangerously. Ignorant, she scuttled over to the next bin—labeled “Sour Budz”—and grabbed another bag. Lance followed her with the cart he’d retrieved.

            “If you keep going at that rate, we’ll need _more_ than one,” he replied.

            She scooped the knock-off candy into her second bag, just absolutely going to town. Hunk was lost somewhere in the ether of the WinCo’s one thousand and one aisles, after god-knows-what. It had been his idea to get treats for Shiro in the first place, but Hunk didn’t “get” treats. Hunk “made” treats. Regardless, Pidge had beelined it for the candy section the second they’d walked in the door.

            “What kind do you want?” she asked, finishing with the Sour Budz, tying the bag, and hoisting it up. She looked like a struggling milkmaid as she carried the bags in either hand to the next bin.

            “I don’t need anything,” Lance replied, following. “Somebody’s gonna have to help _you_.”

            “Nah, my dude, these are private store.”

            As she approached the animal crackers, Lance saw her battle with a desire to dump her current load in the cart, but she didn’t, determined not to prove him right. She set both bags on top of the crackers themselves and pushed up her sleeves to scoop again.

            Hunk emerged from one of the aisles just ahead of them, so Lance flagged him down. His arms were full of baking supplies, so Lance made a big show of gesturing around the empty cart like a girl showing a car on _The Price is Right_. Chuckling, Hunk deposited his stuff, then turned to look at Pidge.

            “Wow, got enough sugar?”

            “Not nearly,” Pidge replied, securing the animal crackers bag and struggling over to the chocolate chips.

            “Come on, Pidge, just put your junk in the cart,” Lance groaned as he trailed after her.

            “No.”

            “Pidge.”

            “ _No._ ”

            She whirled to face him, but the force of her spin on the weighty bag of cinnamon bears was too much. The plastic split and bears flew, the whole bag scattering across the wide aisle between bulk bins. Pidge stood stock still and stared at the mess for a second.

            Then she shouted, “Run!”

            Hurling her other candy bags into the cart, Pidge took off. Hunk and Lance glanced at each other before Lance sighed and offered the handle of the cart to him.

            “I’ll catch up,” he said.

            Hunk took the wheel and jogged after Pidge. Lance went to find an employee and tried to offer to do the cleaning and pay for the ruined cinnamon bears. They insisted it was fine, but Lance still felt guilty. He scooped a second—much smaller—bag of bears for Pidge and made his way to the check out. By the time he got outside, she had already dug into the animal crackers. He chucked the cinnamon bears at her and she caught them with an, “Oof.”

            “You, Katie Holt, will put me in an early grave.”

            She batted her eyelashes at him and held out the bag of Sour Budz. “Will you carry these to the fairgrounds for me?”

            Rolling his eyes, Lance snatched the bag and together the three of them started off.

            Hunk tried to move along at a decent speed, but Pidge’s short legs were too weighed down by the bulk candy to keep up, and Lance wasn’t in a particular hurry, so Hunk quickly outpaced them. He was almost a block ahead when Pidge glanced up at Lance. He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

            “You can’t…not…tell him.”

            “I know.”

            “I mean, if you want to do anything about Keith. Not to assume, or anything…”

            Lance shook his head and sighed. “No assumptions necessary.”

            The sun had started to set, twilight creeping into the quiet Eureka neighborhood that lay between the fairgrounds and the WinCo. Lance shivered. His and Pidge’s flip-flops echoed off the single-story houses, accompanied by the sound of crickets starting up for the night. For some reason it made Lance think of Keith’s film—of the Von’s and the empty park. He tilted his head back and looked up at the stretches of low powerlines that crossed his view of the purpling sky. Would have looked cool in black and white.

            “Do you think I should?” he asked.

            “Tell Hunk?”

            “No, do something about Keith.”

            “Oh.”

            Pidge was quiet for a second.

            “Do you think he likes you back?”

            A dry smile crossed Lance’s mouth. Like him back. That was elementary-school-kid levels of ridiculous, but he kind of felt like one, to be honest. A breath puffed out his nose and he shook his head.

            “Do you?” he asked.

            “Do I what?”

            “Think he likes me back?”

            “Oh.”

            She was quiet again.

            “I’m really shit at this,” she said and laughed, though it was self-effacing. “Sorry. Let me run through my event rolodex for review…”

            Pidge put her hands up on either side of her face, bags of candy hanging off her thumbs, and shut her eyes before twiddling her fingers, making a weird little paper-flipping noise with her tongue while she did. Lance couldn’t help a chuckle, and, small as it was, the laugh did make him feel better.

            Eyes still closed, Pidge responded, “He’s kind of a weird dude.”

            Lance nodded, unable to ignore the way his heart pinched at talking about Keith.

            “Like, _super_ weird.”

            Again, Lance nodded.

            “Kinda volatile.”

            No denying that.

            “Kinda moody.”

            _Very_ moody.

            “Terrible taste in music.”

            The worst.

            Pidge opened her eyes. “Come to think of it, why _do_ you like him?”

            Brows drawing together, Lance opened his mouth to respond, but he didn’t have anything to say. That startled him. His mouth closed, and he blinked.

            “I don’t know,” he said. “I just… _do_.”

            There was something about Keith. Something Lance couldn’t put his finger on. Something in the guy’s eyes, something in his aura, in the way he carried himself, existed in the world, walked, spoke, _was_. Something about his very energy—something intangible, but which Lance could sense and feel. Maybe it had to do with how different they were, both in upbringing and in attitude. The two of them were total opposites, really. Like the north and south poles on a magnet. Which probably explained why Lance was so attracted to him. He was just obeying a universal scientific law.

            “Anyways, I’m not sure.”

            Pidge’s voice called him back to the present, back to the street and the crickets and their flip-flops.

            “Not sure about what?”

            “If he likes you back,” she said. “I don’t know him well enough. Plus he’s pretty dramatic.”

            Lance conceded with a nod and a half-roll of his eyes.

            “I’ll watch, though,” she said.

            “Thanks…”

            He didn’t know what else to say.

 

Hunk’s distance from Lance and Pidge only increased as they walked, so he made it back to the trailer long before either of them, and was well into a batch of cookies, already spooning balls of dough onto a baking tray, by the time Pidge and Lance came through the door.

            “Transmutation wizard, I’m telling you,” Pidge said, shaking her head.

            “I want to get them done tonight,” Hunk replied, “so I have to work fast.”

            “And, as we all know,” Pidge said, pinching a dough ball off the sheet and popping it into her mouth, “magic is the fastest way to do anything.”

            She went to snag another ball, but Hunk clicked his tongue and smacked the back of her hand. She narrowed her eyes, but moved away, burrowing into her bunk instead. Lance stepped up beside Hunk and leaned his butt against the counter so the two of them were basically facing each other as Hunk continued to work, super focused.

            “We all gonna go over together or something?” Lance asked.

            “Sure, if you want,” Hunk replied. He finished the last row of dough balls and put the tray into the oven.

            “Are those even gonna cook in there?”

            As he shut the oven door, Hunk pressed his hands together over his heart. “A prayer that they do.”

            “You should have made him no-bake cookies,” Pidge chimed in from her bunk.

            “Nobody likes those,” Lance said.

            She poked her head out, expression offended. “ _I_ like those!”

            “Your food opinions were rendered null and void after the great Pop-Tart and Mayonnaise Fiasco of ’09.”

            Hunk shivered and stuck out his tongue as he remembered the horror. Pidge just glared and sucked back into her bunk. Looking to Lance, Hunk offered a smile. Lance returned it, a little withdrawn, for the first time feeling like he was keeping a secret from his friend.

            The cookies proved a challenge for the dinky oven, but they _did_ bake, and Hunk forced a protesting Pidge to put her shoes back on to go to Keith and Shiro’s trailer with them for delivery.

            “Why do we even call these cookies?” she grumbled, squinting at the plate in her hands.

            “The frick-frack are you talking about?” Lance replied.

            “Cookies,” she said. “You don’t _cook_ them. They should be called _bakies_.”

            Lance laughed out loud. Hunk did as well.

            “I mean, you’re not wrong…”

            “What?” Lance laughed. “So we’re gonna call them ‘no-bake bakies’?”

            Pidge scowled, which only made him laugh harder. They were in earshot of Keith and Shiro’s trailer by then, and a friendly call answered Lance’s laughter.

            “Sounds like a good time headed this direction,” Shiro said. He was laid out on a hammock under the awning in front of the trailer, a washcloth over his eyes. Smiling, he lifted one end of it to peek out as they approached. “What’s so funny?”

            “We brought you _bakies_ ,” Lance replied, tipping his plate to display the cookies. Pidge whapped him across his arm, so Lance stuck his foot out to trip her, but Hunk noticed and caught his collar to pull him away before he succeeded.

            “We know you aren’t feeling well, so we made some treats,” he said.

            “ _Hunk_ made these,” Pidge put in. “Lance and I don’t deserve any of the credit.”

            Shiro smiled, and there was just something about it that made Lance want to give him a hug. The expression was so genuine, peppered with a little of what looked like sorrow on top of the sincerity. It was an unusual smile—one that was both happy and sad at the same time.

            “ _Thank_ you,” Shiro said. “That’s so thoughtful.” Then he hollered, “Keith!”

            Lance’s heart stopped. A muffled voice answered from inside the trailer.

            “What?”

            “Bring out some mugs and the milk. Trailer six brought cookies! No, sorry, bakies!”

            Lance could sense Pidge grit her teeth without even looking at her. He grinned, and she smacked him without looking either. He was about to return volley when Keith emerged from the trailer, cradling a handful of mugs and holding a gallon of milk, one eyebrow raised above the other in utter confusion. Their eyes met and Lance’s heart thudded. Why did he have to look so pretty under the string lights? Or, like, at all?

            “What the hell are bakies?” he asked.

            “Simply a manner of semantics,” Hunk replied with a smile.

            Keith’s expression of confusion deepened, but he didn’t press. He came down the steps and set the mugs and milk on the outdoor table next to Shiro’s hammock. Seeing that things were taken care of, Shiro shut his eyes again and let the washcloth drop back onto his face. Keith poured a mug for him and nudged it into his hand, followed by a cookie into the other when Hunk held out the plate.

            “Did you make these?” Keith asked.

            Hunk nodded, accepting a mug when Keith offered. “Mom’s recipe.”

            “You brought it with you?” He poured a cup for Pidge and passed it.

            “I have it memorized,” Hunk replied.

            “Ah.”

            A mug appeared in front of Lance, and, lifting his eyes he couldn’t help tracing the line of Keith’s arm all the way to his face. Swallowing, he took the cup, and their fingers brushed as he did. Only a very concentrated effort kept him from sloshing the milk.

            Keith poured his own cup, then went briefly back inside to put the milk away. When he came back, he chose to stand next to Lance, taking a cookie from Hunk’s plate.

            “You figure out how many inversions is going to kill you?” he asked, dunking the cookie in the milk.

            “No,” Lance replied. “Pidge just told me about some _death_ machine—”

            “The Urbonas Euthanasia Coaster?”

            Pidge’s eyes lit up and Lance’s stomach dropped.

            “Not you too…” Lance groaned.

            But it was too late.

            “ _Yes,_ ” Pidge hissed with glee. “Speak to me of deadly roller coaster glory, my fellow member of the dark order.”

            Keith frowned at her, and was momentarily distracted by Shiro putting his hand up for a second cookie, but said as he passed one over, “I don’t know. It’s an elegant concept.”

            Pidge smacked Lance. “ _Someone_ gets it.”

            “I did some research on it for a film,” Keith said. He shrugged. “It was supposed to be about roller coasters in general, but the Euthanasia Coaster kind of took over.”

            “Surprising no one,” Shiro added.

            Keith flashed him a playful scowl.

            “Why didn’t we watch _that_ at the movie night?” Pidge asked.

            Keith’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Instead, an expression akin to a kicked puppy’s crossed his face, and he looked down. His mouth opened again, and again nothing, at least for a second.

            “I should get back inside.”

            He went, taking his mug and uneaten cookie. Shiro lifted his washcloth to try and catch Keith’s eye, but was unsuccessful. Hunk and Pidge exchanged expressions.

            “Sorry,” she said softly. “Did I say something?”

            Shiro shook his head. “Don’t worry. It’s not your fault. He brought it up. I actually thought for a minute was ready to talk about it…”

            Hunk asked something in reply, but Lance didn’t listen. He was following Keith, pulled by his magnetic force the same way he’d been pulled from the Denny’s. He found Keith at the sink, rinsing out his mug and viciously washing it like he was trying to work off a baked-on grease stain.

            “Careful, or there won’t be a cup left when you’re done.”

            Keith’s eyes flashed over to him. “Do you have _any_ sense of privacy?”

            Lance shrugged. Keith sighed in defeat. He tossed the mug onto a drying rack and leaned a hand against the counter, skin wet. Lance couldn’t help a quick glance around the trailer. He’d never been inside before. It was roomy and clean, spotless really, like it had only just come off the showroom floor. Albeit thirty or forty years ago. Most of the furniture had been updated, though. The inside smelled good—leather and some kind of musky soap. Which was kind of what Keith smelled like, come to think of it.

            “What do you want?” Keith asked.

            Again, Lance shrugged. “You have a tendency to make a dramatic exit,” he said. “I just don’t like giving you the satisfaction.” He softened the statement with a smile. Much to his relief, Keith returned it.

            “You’re kind of an ass. You know that?”

            Lance nodded. “Even if I didn’t, Pidge reminds me on a daily basis.”

            “Smart girl.”

            “Yeah.”

            They observed each other for a moment, something unreadable in Keith’s expression. All at once, Lance became aware of the proximity between them, the quiet intimacy of the trailer. What alarmed him more than that, however, was how little he minded. How much the whole situation kind of thrilled him. How badly he wanted to run his fingers down Keith’s arm and lace his soapy fingers with his own.

            He cleared his throat. “So, what’s the deal?”

            Keith looked away. “With what?”

            “With the weather,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “With the dramatic exit, _acere._ What else?”

            “‘Acere?’”

            “Uh-uh.” Lance waved a finger at him. “Don’t try to dodge.”

            Keith’s mouth settled into a flat scowl, and he held Lance’s eye for a moment, but Lance wasn’t going to bend. Even if looking at each other like that was making him feel pretty bendy.

            “The, uh…” Keith let his breath out, a cleansing—if a little angry—huff. “The roller coaster piece was the one I used in my application to USC.”

            “You applied to _USC?_ ”

            The question seemed to sting. Keith turned a little red and flicked his eyes away.

            “Yeah, well, I didn’t get in, so—”

            “Dude, their acceptance rate’s like eighteen percent. Believe me, I know. I googled. I’m sure it didn’t have that much to do with your f—”

            “No, it probably had more to do with the fact that I barely scraped through my GED. Or my juvenile record. Or the flattering picture my foster history paints. Or the fact that my mother might have entered the country illegally.” He was shouting now. “No, you’re right, Lance. I bet my shit film about death-by-roller-coaster didn’t have that much to do with why I didn’t get into the number one film school in the country.”

            “You shouldn’t take it personal…”

            “But it _is_ personal.” Keith looked at him. “They decided they didn’t want _me_. All of those things that make me up, my art? That’s me. And they said no.”

            Lance just kind of stared at him. This was his exact nightmare. The _exact_ reason he hadn’t applied anywhere at all. He was afraid of rejection, afraid of what it would mean if every letter rolled back in with a, “We regret to inform you…” on the first line. And Keith was living it firsthand.

            “I’m sorry, man,” Lance said, voice soft. “That sucks.”

            Keith let the air from his lungs, folding his arms and leaning back against the counter, his eyes focused on the floor.

            “I haven’t really picked up a camera since then,” he said. “Crescent City was the first time I’ve filmed in months.”

            “What changed?”

            Keith shrugged.

            Lance chewed on the inside of his cheek, chewed on a thought for a while too until finally spitting it out.

            “I didn’t apply to college,” he said, and the words as they left his mouth took a weight with them. But the weight was replaced by a keener, darker, clearer view of the Nothing. “I didn’t think I’d get in, so I didn’t even try. I don’t really know what I’m going to do come fall.”

            He lifted his gaze to Keith and found Keith already looking at him.

            “Scary, right?” Keith said, and his mouth curved in the slightest of smiles.

            Returning it, Lance nodded. “Terrifying.”

            Both of them smiled then, for real. Keith nodded his head at the door.

            “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll be out in a second.”

            It was probably better just to listen to the guy, and he seemed to have relaxed a little, so Lance left. Pidge and Hunk and Shiro all looked his direction, worried expressions on their faces, as he came out of the trailer and trotted down the steps. Shiro in particular raised his eyebrows, the washcloth gone from his forehead. Lance simply shrugged. A moment later, Keith emerged, carrying his laptop and a set of speakers in his hands. He got everything situated on the table next to Shiro’s hammock, then turned the laptop screen around to face the group.

            “The title is…uh… It's really bad. So, ignore that, but… Here.”

            He hit the spacebar.

            Cue the unsettling atmospheric music—a shot of the top right portion of the Fireball, true to form in black and white. One of the empty carts rolled over the track, entering the frame on the left and disappearing through the bottom. A title appeared across the screen.

            _Youthanasia_

            Pidge chuckled. Keith shook his head at himself, but smiled.

            _Keith Kogane_

            The five of them spent the next fifteen minutes watching Keith’s “death-by-roller-coaster” film. It was every bit as artful as _Say, Speak_ , if a little— _a lot_ —darker. Fatalism and existential crisis, a lot of discussion on the science of the limits of the human body. People in extremis. The piece was…passionate. On such a level that it was almost frightening, definitely intimidating.

            Though Lance got the feeling that that was the kind of energy Keith brought to everything.

            Pidge applauded wildly as the film came to a close. She and Keith and Hunk chatted for a little while about the content—a discussion to which Lance had nothing to add. Then Shiro got up to go to bed, and the rest of them took that as their cue to leave. Keith shut his laptop, and a particular aspect of his expression kept Lance in place even as Hunk and Pidge started to walk away.

            “Thanks,” Keith said.

            Lance smiled. “You, too.”

            They nodded at each other, and Lance turned to go.

            “Tomorrow for the Fireball,” he said, calling back over his shoulder. “Sound good, Mr. Youthanasia?”

            Keith laughed. “They call me that because I kill the competition.”

            Pidge sucked in a comically large gasp and clapped her hands on either side of her face. “Keith made a joke!”

            “You wanna join the competition, there, Pidge?” Keith replied.

            “ _Hell_ nah,” she said. “Somebody’s gotta stand on the sidelines and make sure you dum-dums don’t die. An arbiter, of sorts.”

            “Your reputation as an arbiter isn’t that great,” Hunk put in.

            “Says who?”

            “Says the chess club both you and I were a part of for four years.”

            The two of them started to bicker about the validity of the claims of one “Dominic Allen” who was apparently a former member of the chess club. Lance and Keith smiled at each other from across the distance, then Lance offered a wave and Keith waved back. Still smiling to himself, heart full, Lance turned around and followed Pidge and Hunk back to trailer six.

            Later, after they’d all gone to bed and the lights were out, Pidge poked her head up by the edge of Lance’s bed, making him jump. He hadn’t heard her rustling at all.

            “He does,” she said.

            Lance just stared at her. “What?”

            Her smile glinted bright even in the darkness.

            “He does,” she said again, and then she disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Livin' for them comments as always, friendos. Hit me with 'em.


	8. Where I Was Always a Winner

It took Lance a good long while to figure out what Pidge had been talking about when she’d popped up like some kind of demon Whack-a-Mole by the side of his bunk. Unfortunately, the moment he realized was right before the Fireball contest was supposed to start. The carnival had closed for the night at eleven, and he and Pidge and Hunk had made their way into the fairgrounds, through the small crowd of staff spectators who had gathered to watch, and the second Lance saw Keith at the foot of the steps up to the ride, the words, “He does,” suddenly made perfect sense.

            And Lance panicked.

            Was Pidge telling the truth? What reason did she have to lie to him? If she wasn’t lying, what had she seen? Had there been anything _to_ see? What had she _sensed?_ What if she was _right?_

            Then, back-lit by the ride’s orange lights, Keith smiled, and Lance’s heart stopped. In that moment, he prayed to whatever higher power governed the universe that she was.

            “You ready?” Keith asked, his smile shifting to a shade of coy that made Lance’s stomach coil.

            “He won’t give up without a fight. Right, Lance?” Pidge said. She clapped a hand on his shoulder, hardly using any force, but making him stumble all the same. His tongue felt swollen, and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded, face hot and stupid.

            “First to tap out or pass out loses,” Keith replied and extended his hand.

            “Wait, wait, wait!” Pidge cried, pushing between them to scramble up the stairs. “I’m the arbiter here. We have to do this _properly_.”

            She hauled herself up on the railing at the side of the stairs and cleared her throat before throwing her arms above her head and shouting at the top of her lungs, “Friends! Romans! Countrymen! Are you not entertained?”

            She received a hearty cheer and round of applause from everyone in the crowd except Hunk, who put his face in his hand and shook his head while grumbling something about mixing media, and Lance, who was still reeling. And also trying very hard not to straight-up ogle his opponent.

            “We are gathered, friends, on this fine occasion to witness a battle of wills,” Pidge continued, swinging a hand through the air. “On the one hand—Keith, King of the Fireball and Wearer of the Crown.” She gestured for him to come up the steps, so he did, and the crowd applauded. “On the other—Lance, a Knight Errant in search of glory.” She waved Lance up, and he went, blushing.

            “Shiro, Keeper of the Keys, Conqueror of Migraines, will facilitate this duel.”

            Over at the operator’s booth, Shiro waved.

            “I, Katie Holt, will be judge and jury.” She climbed down from the railing and stood beside both Lance and Keith, facing the crowd. “Gentlemen, you may shake hands.”

            Lance looked at Keith, and Keith extended his hand, a smile hiding at the corner of his mouth. It brought one out of Lance, and he shook. His stomach swarmed with a million bees, but he didn’t know how much of that to tack onto the fact that he was about to board a roller coaster.

            “The first to tap out or pass out is the loser,” Pidge said. “Gentlemen, take your seats!”

            The crowd cheered again, Romelle louder than the others as she cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Kick his ass, Keith!”

            Keith laughed. He jaunted the short distance up the loading ramp to the front of the cart, motioned at the pair of seats, and said, “After you.”

            Lance obliged, climbing down into the cart and struggling over to the second seat. It took a minute of careful folding to get his legs to fit, ankles crossed, but he managed. Keith followed suit, swinging into his seat like he’d done it a thousand times. Which he probably had. Lance let a breath out. No way this was  going to end with a win in his corner.

            Shiro came by to lower and check their over-the-shoulder restraints. He gave Lance a particular smile.

            “Good luck,” he said. “This kid is crazy.”

            “I’m not crazy,” Keith replied. “You’re a sore loser.”

            He grinned up at Shiro, and Shiro shook his head with a laugh and a good-natured eye roll. Lance didn’t miss the excited glint in Keith’s eyes, the genuine delight betrayed by the way he tapped his feet on the bottom of the cart. The guy was so happy to ride a roller coaster. It was kind of adorable.

            “I can’t believe you’ve never been on one of these before,” Keith said, peeking his head out from between the shoulder restraints to look at Lance.

            “Cut me some slack,” Lance replied, swallowing. That swarm of bees in his stomach now was _definitely_ because of the ride. “I’ve only been a carny for like five seconds.”

            Keith smirked. “So you’re a carny now?”

            “Let the games begin!” Pidge shouted.

            A bell rang, and the ride started, and Lance jolted, gripping the little handholds on his shoulder restraint in a panic. Keith laughed, and the bee swarm doubled.

            At first, the ride wasn’t so bad. The cart barely moved back and forth along the bottom half of the circular track. Lance had watched it run as an operator plenty of times, though, and he knew what was coming. With each pass, the carts moved higher and higher, going faster and faster as the momentum built. They nearly inverted twice, his stomach dropping both times they went sliding back down the track, and on the next go-round, they did invert.

            His initial scream got dwarfed by sudden alarm at feeling like he was going to fall out of his seat. Then the cart crested the turn and went flying down the other side of the track. Relief, excitement for a moment at the butterflies, but then they were going right back up and around again. This time he did scream.

            But it was kind of…good? Thrilling, really. Not a scream of fear, but exhilaration. Of all the bad leaving his body so it could fill up with joy instead.

            On the next pass, the cart hovered in the middle of the top of the track, letting them hang, before dropping back the way they’d come and turning two inversions the opposite direction. Lance let loose another call, and it was then he noticed Keith was cheering, too. Lance looked over, and the expression on the guy’s face was almost indescribable. He never would have thought that a face that could brood like Keith’s could ever light up so bright. Keith looked over, mouth open in an enormous, toothy grin, hair whipping around his face.

            “It’s great, right?” he shouted, and Lance barely heard him over the roar of the wheels on the track and the wind in his ears. Like talking to somebody underwater. Or in a dream.

            He nodded, whispered, “Great,” though it was certain Keith couldn’t hear him.

            The cart slowed to a stop, and their spectators cheered. Keith laughed, smoothing his windblown hair away from his eyes. They barely spent a second at the bottom before Pidge swung her arm down like a racing flag and shouted, “Round two!”

            A _brrrrring!_ from the bell and they were off again.

            It took another three rounds for Lance to start to feel it. End of round five, the cart came to a stop and his vision didn’t settle for a few seconds. But the discomfort increased exponentially from there. End of round six, he was permanently dizzy. End of round seven his head started to hurt. End of round eight his stomach was churning. End of round nine he was about ready to throw up. But it was only one more round until the tie breaker.

            Keith, the friggin’ carny-blooded monster, looked almost totally fine. Other than the fact that he’d gone quiet and was no longer laughing.

            “Shall we proceed to round ten, gentlemen?” Pidge asked. She slid her glasses up her nose, and maybe it was because Lance couldn’t see straight, but he swore the lenses did that anime thing. She was enjoying their suffering way too much. As expected, but way too much.

            The crowd had doubled since they’d started, and now that it was nearing the final rounds, they were getting rowdy. Lance couldn’t make out what anybody was saying, but he was determined to see this contest through to the end either way.

            “You still going, Mullet?” Lance asked. Even his own voice sounded faraway.

            “You bet,” Keith replied.

            Pidge swung her arm down and cried with vigor, “Round ten!”

            Cheers, a bell, and the cart started moving.

            Lance almost didn’t make it through. About the fourth inversion his vision started to tunnel out, but the fourth inversion was the last one, at least. Pidge approached them at the bottom and called to the crowd, “Both still conscious!”

            Wild cheering—but maybe Lance imagined that, too.

            “This is it!” Pidge cried. “Round eleven! Keith’s crown was earned in ten! Ready?”

            Keith and Lance both nodded, neither of them really in a fit state to make decisions about anything, and Pidge laughed in manic glee as she swung her arm down that time. Lance didn’t even hear the bell, he was too busy swallowing to keep his stomach contents _in_ his stomach.

            Coming out of the first inversion, black crept in on the edges of his vision. Coming out of the second, it turned grey, then closed in completely. He gritted his teeth, bared down, determined, _willing_ himself not to pass out. He was going to win this, he was going to win this, he had not done ten rounds for nothing, that crown was _his_

            But the second the cart hung in the middle and started its trip in reverse, everything went black.

 

When Lance came to, he was lying on his back on the grass. Hunk was leaning over him, bottle of water in hand, and Pidge was at his feet, holding them up in the air.

            “Did I win?” Lance croaked.

            “You both conked out,” Pidge replied.

            “Damn…”

            “How do you feel?” Hunk asked. He opened the bottle of water and nestled it into Lance’s hand.

            “Like I went through a washing machine,” Lance replied.

            “Yeah, don’t get up until you feel like you’re ready.”

            Lance shut his eyes and let a deep breath out. Pidge shuffled his legs around, then asked, “Can I let go, or…?”

            Hunk must have nodded, because Lance’s feet met the ground. He spent a second gathering his senses and waiting for the dizzy to stop a little before he opened his eyes again. All around him, the crowd was chattering, but he couldn’t look to see who was still there or how long it had been, because even moving his eyes made his head hurt.

            “Where’s Keith?” he asked.

            “Right here.”

            The guy himself leaned into Lance’s field of vision and gave a sheepish wave. Lance groaned.

            “ _How_ are you okay?” 

            Keith chuckled and offered an apologetic smile. “If by ‘okay’ you mean ‘upright.’ I feel like hell. Just not…” He gestured at Lance. “… _this_ kind of hell.”

            Lance squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered. “Not fair.”

            A couple people, including Romelle and Shiro, stopped by to make sure he was doing okay and tell him and Keith how epic and/or ridiculous the contest had been. Eventually, though, the crowd cleared off and Keith had taken a seat on the grass. Pidge elbowed Hunk in the chest.

            “Let’s go find them something to eat,” she said. “Glucose levels, and all that.”

            Hunk gave her a scowl about the shove, but it turned into an expression of determination at the mention of food. Both of them got to their feet and trotted away. Lance swallowed.

            “A stalemate, then, I guess,” he said, glancing briefly up at Keith—and _jeeze_ did he have a hell of a profile.

            A light smile crossed Keith’s mouth. “I’m impressed, actually,” he said. He looked down, made eye contact, and Lance’s heart thudded. “Only a carny for five seconds and you gave me a real run for my money.”

            Lance couldn’t help a squishy smile. “Didn’t quite manage to de-throne you, though.”

            “We can share the throne,” Keith said with a shrug, but the statement did not make Lance feel casual. “Oh, speaking of. I was pretty sure I was gonna win, like an asshole, so I bought you a consolation prize.”

            “You _what?_ ”

            Keith got to his feet, but Lance barely noticed as he had ceased to function.

            An orange Ulta bag dropped onto his chest a moment later. He blinked.

            “Sorry it’s not, like, wrapped,” Keith said.

            Lance looked at him, almost scowling, just totally and utterly confused but also really touched and massively overwhelmed. There were not enough adverbs in the English language to convey the wringer he was going through. Keith glanced away from the eye contact. His cheeks might have been a little pink. Lance couldn’t tell anymore.            

            He sat up gingerly, careful not to go too fast or spill the water Hunk had handed him, and glanced at Keith again before opening the bag. Inside was a bottle of Mamonde Beauty Water. His heart pinched. The wrong brand completely, but Keith got him a _present._ And he’d remembered the words “beauty water” of all things.

            “Thank you,” Lance said, somewhat speechless.

            “I mean, I don’t really know if that’s what you needed,” Keith said. “You’ve probably already replaced what Pidge dumped, but I said ‘toner’ and the lady at the place said that was one, so… At least now you’re not missing step four or whatever.” He looked embarrassed, like he’d never given someone a gift before.

            “No, _thank you_.” Lance sat up a little better, unconsciously holding the bottle of toner close to his heart. “I might like this kind more, I don’t know.”

            Keith gave a small smile, tucked his hair behind his ear.

            “Besides,” Lance continued, “ _anything_ will be better than skipping step four.” His eyes turned to the bottle in his hand and he smiled like an idiot. Then he started to laugh.

            “What?”

            “Nothing, sorry, I’m just picturing you in an Ulta.” He snorted so hard at the image of Keith lost and bewildered among the aisles of beauty products that the change of pressure in his head made him dizzy again.   

            Keith gave him a hairy scowl. “I’ve _been_ in Ulta before,” he said. “I’m _gay._ ”

            The reminder startled them both. Lance looked up from the toner and Keith stared back at him. Neither said anything. Both swallowed. Lance opened his mouth, but it was that moment that Hunk and Pidge returned with some of the leftover bakies from yesterday. Lance thought he saw Keith shift back, but couldn’t remember when the guy had moved closer.

            “Hey, you’re sitting up,” Hunk beamed. “That’s great! You drink any of that water?”

            Lance shook his head.

            “That’s okay.” Hunk sat and held a cookie out. “Drink some now.”

            “I’d better get going,” Keith said, getting to his feet and brushing off his pants. “I’ve got the early shift tomorrow. Thanks, Lance.”

            Keith had said his name once or twice before, but something in the way he said it now made Lance’s stomach curl and his heart tighten, as did his grip on the toner. He crooked his knees and put his head between them for some stability. He could pass it off on the Fireball contest, but really he was dizzy from how hard he was crushing. The turmoil was kind of terrible, to be honest. Terrible and wonderful.

            “See you tomorrow, Keith,” Hunk said.

            He pressed a comforting hand on Lance’s shoulder, but did more harm than good, reminding Lance of the secret he was still keeping.

            “Wonderful” started to slip out of reach.

 

The whole staff was buzzing about the contest the following morning. It was Saturday, so the fairgrounds were busy right from opening, and about an hour into his shift, Lance was sick to death of explaining the whole scenario to customers after dipshit employees would wander by and shout, “Great job last night!” or some nonsense at him.

            “Wait, so you went around _how_ many times?” this guy at the front of the line asked, staring up at the Fireball, which Lance was currently operating, with his face aghast.

            “Ten, technically,” Lance replied. “I passed out on the eleventh.”

            “Oh my god.”

            He looked like he was going to be sick just thinking about it. The current ride came to a stop, and the bell rang, so Lance pressed the button to release their shoulder restraints.

            “Last chance to back out, buddy,” he said to the guy.

            The current riders cleared the carts and platform, but before Lance could open the gate to let the next round board, Romelle and Keith approached from down the midway. Romelle waved, drawing in a deep breath.

            “Don’t even think about it!” Lance hollered.

            She laughed. “You don’t know what I was gonna say.” Coming up below the operator’s booth, she craned her neck back and grinned at him. “I’m here to trade you out.”

            Lance started. “What? What for?”

            “The Ferris wheel stopped working this morning,” Keith put in, finishing his approach. “Coran wants me to teach one of the new guys on the crew how to get it operational.”

            “Chop, chop,” Romelle said and clapped her hands. She dashed up the exit steps and opened the gate for the customers so they could load. It wasn’t until she came over and gently pulled Lance out of the operator’s booth that he started to move. Next thing he knew, he was with Keith and the two of them were walking to the back of the fairgrounds.

            “Did Coran say he wanted _me_ to learn specifically?” Lance asked.

            “No,” Keith replied. “But you’re the least idiotic, and I figured you could use a break from customers after yesterday.”

            “Thanks, man,” Lance said, smiling for a second until he fully processed Keith’s words. “Wait— _least_ idiotic?”

            Keith just laughed. “Hurry up.”

            Scowling, Lance followed as Keith broke into a light jog. It was quieter back by the Ferris wheel, and the area around it had been roped off. A few curious customers milled along the perimeter, watching with interested eyes as Keith and Lance ducked under the rope and made their way behind the ride. This side of the fairgrounds bordered the road on the other side of the fence. Traffic was light, the noise of the somewhat-distant carnival filling in the soundscape instead.

            “Usually, all you have to do is reboot the system,” Keith said, unlocking a big control box underneath the loading platform in the back. A couple of the lights were blinking red. He flipped a switch, and they shut off.

            “Least idiotic,” Lance grumbled.

            Keith smiled over his shoulder, but Lance narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t going to let that stunner work on him _every_ time.

            “If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to troubleshoot.”

            Keith flicked the switch back to on, and all the system lights lit up again. All of them flashed red, but most bumped down to yellow and then green after a second. The same ones that had been red before stayed red. Keith frowned.

            “Huh.”

            Lance watched as he turned it off and on again, just to be sure.

            “Pidge would probably be a better fit for this,” Lance said. Much to his surprise, Keith shook his head.

            “No, trust me,” he said. Wheel on, lights red. “Sounds stupid, but there’s a level of instinct involved. You’re a good fit.”

            Gratified, Lance beamed. He almost didn’t catch the keys to the operator’s booth and control panel when Keith tossed them his direction, and they _did_ hit him in the face. His cheeks flushed as red as the lights.

            “Go up top and turn the wheel on,” Keith said. “Tell me which lights are red up there.”

            “Okay, bossy,” Lance replied, doing as he was told. Once the ride was on, he leaned out of the booth window to shout, “They’re all red up here, Keith.”

            “And now?”

            Lance looked at the control panel and a few of the lights had turned green. They went back and forth on that front for a few minutes until every light on the control panel was green. It occurred to Lance about halfway through that he wasn’t exactly learning how to fix the Ferris wheel, since he had no idea what Keith was doing down there, but he wasn’t complaining, per se. The quiet _was_ a welcome break. And he wouldn’t sneeze at the company.

            “Go ahead and turn it on,” Keith called.

            No sooner had Lance done so than Keith was shouting, “No, no, no, off, off, off!” so he hit the switch in a hurry.

            “There’s a frayed wire down here,” Keith said. “Toss me that electrical tape.”

            Lance was about to ask, “What electrical tape?” when he spotted it under the control panel next to the radio. He grabbed it, then dropped it out the window for Keith to catch. The guy went to work and Lance leaned against the booth to wait, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip.

            “Can I ask you a question?” he said after a moment.

            “Sure,” Keith replied, and his voice sounded echo-y inside the control box.

            “When you…got kicked out of school…how did you deal with that? Like actually?”

            Keith was quiet. Lance scrunched up his face, hoping he hadn’t already breached the boundaries of whatever-this-was. A few metallic clanks sounded beneath his feet as Keith worked. He didn’t respond for what felt to Lance like a century.

            “I just kind of…shut down,” Keith said. Lance peeked out the window and Keith’s head was still buried in the control box. “I don’t know. There wasn’t anything I could do about it, really. Not with my record. None of the schools in Sacramento would take me. So I just…didn’t go back.” A few more clanks. “Wallowed a lot. Spent forever feeling sorry for myself. Shiro got my ass in gear eventually, but… It sucked. I didn’t really know what was going to happen to me. I hated it.”

            Lance swallowed, but his mouth was dry, so it hurt.

            “Familiar feeling,” he said. Then, “But you got over it?”

            Emerging from inside the control box, Keith looked up and shrugged. “I guess. That shit about ‘time heals all wounds’ or whatever. I don’t really buy it, but things got easier. Not because they _became_ easy but because they got used to them, I think.” He tossed the roll of tape to Lance. “Fire it up again.”

            Lance returned the tape to its place and went to the control panel. He mulled over what Keith had said while he turned the Ferris wheel on and watched for the lights to go green. They all did, save one—and that one flickered red for a second before deciding to switch to green. Lance narrowed his eyes at it.

            “I don’t think it’s ready,” he called to Keith. “The light for the brakes did a weird thing.”

            “Weird how?”

            “I don’t know, it was red, but then it changed to green after the others. They peer pressured it.”

            Keith laughed. “I’ll come up and check the brakes, then.”

            Lance wrestled with his response until Keith was on the loading platform. The second he opened his mouth, however, the general quiet drowned under an absurdly loud rumbling from the road on the other side of the fence. Both of them looked to behold a huge parade of trucks and trailers. All of them black. All of them decorated with big purple lettering: Zarkon’s Family Fun Fair.

            They went quiet to watch it pass—like a deafening funeral. Or a military show of arms.

            “Jeeze,” Lance said.

            Keith nodded.

            “Did they come this way on purpose?”

            “Definitely,” Keith replied. The last of the trailers turned the corner, and the spell on him broke. He went to a panel on the platform and flipped it up before dropping into the crawl space beneath. “No reason to drive your whole damn carnival down a residential street.”

            Lance frowned, glancing over his shoulder. Zarkon’s trucks were still audible, making a hell of a racket just out of sight.

            “So they’re all assholes,” he said.

            Keith laughed, sharp and humorless. “Pretty much.” He turned his face up to Lance from inside the crawl space. “Turn it off and on again.”

            Returning to the control panel, Lance did just that. All green lights, and in a normal fashion.

            “Looks good,” he said.

            With a grunt, Keith hauled himself out of the crawl space and dropped the panel over it unceremoniously. Lance couldn’t take his eyes off the guy’s arms the whole time. Keith let his breath out and motioned at the operator’s booth.

            “Let’s run it a few times before we open it up.”

            “O…okay,” Lance replied, stumbling over the word because Keith had approached the booth and leaned against the doorframe. Lance kept his mouth shut as long as he could, pointedly setting the Ferris wheel to cycle through a complete run. Eventually, though, Keith’s overwhelming presence and Lance’s anxiety demanded he speak.

            “I’m sorry…about what happened to you…” he said, eyes glued to the control panel.

            Keith huffed a laugh. “Which part?”

            Lance looked at him. “All of it.”

            Those big, beautiful, dark, dusky eyes of Keith’s went wide. He blinked, vulnerable for a second, looking like a baby deer. He was so soft under those layers of irritation and aggression. Part of Lance was still surprised. The other part seemed to have known the whole time. While he didn’t have a clear picture of everything that had happened in Keith’s past, he _did_ have an idea, and he could see the effect all those things had had on Keith. The layers were protection against a world of growing up in stranger’s homes, of former friends who outed him, of uncertainty and powerlessness. This guy—the one looking back at him right now—was the person those layers were protecting. And they’d worked. He was still in there, in spite of it all.

            “It just…it sucks,” Lance added with a shrug. “It sucks that some people have to deal with stuff like that.”

            “Everyone does,” Keith said.

            Lance shook his head. “Not _that_ hard, though.”

            Keith’s brows drew together, and again Lance was struck by the softness of the expression. He had to look away.

            “You can’t compare tragedies,” Keith said. “Just because the hardest thing in your life isn’t ‘as hard’ as the hardest thing in somebody else’s, that doesn’t make it less hard for you. Besides…” He turned his face toward the street like he was looking at the ghosts of Zarkon’s carnival passing again. “What’s hard for one person might be easy for someone else.”

            Lance raised his eyebrows.

            “I couldn’t do your whole half-in-half-out of the closet thing,” Keith said. “I’d go insane.”

            Surprised, Lance laughed. “What? So you’d _choose_ getting outed to the whole school?”

            “I mean, no,” Keith replied. “The way it happened for me was a world-class shitstorm, but once all that settled, it took a lot of pressure off, you know? It was out. _I_ was out.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to relive it or anything.”

            Nodding, Lance considered. The Ferris wheel finished its round unbothered, lights still green as the ride came to a stop. Keith reached over Lance to turn the key and reclaim it. Lance caught himself smelling for that leather and soap scent as the guy leaned into his area. The action—or _reaction_ , maybe—startled him a little. Of the one-thousand-and-one crushes he’d had and had flirted with, none of them had ever done him in like this one. He’d never actively tried to _smell_ someone before. He couldn’t decide if it was creepy or not.

            “Thanks for your help,” Keith said, jingling the Ferris wheel keys.

            “Didn’t do much,” Lance replied.

            Keith shook his head. “Instinct,” he said. “You helped, trust me.”

            Together the pair of them left the operator’s booth. Keith shut and locked the door. Both of them lingered when they reached the bottom step.

            “Maybe next time you should _actually_ teach me how to fix the Ferris wheel,” Lance said.

            “Maybe,” Keith replied.

            He smiled, and Lance prayed again to those universe-governing forces that Pidge’s “he does” would prove true. Because Lance “did.”

            Lance did _real_ bad.

 

The energy around the Carnival of Lions gradually shifted as the day progressed. First Shiro trotted through and inspected Lance’s station, projecting an air of “everything’s fine” that was immediately suspect. One by one, all the team leaders adopted that same anxiety. Then Allura trotted through to perform the same inspection Shiro had, and only about thirty minutes after she’d left, Coran himself showed up, clicking and tutting and fussing with the tiniest details. It wasn’t until Lance had clocked out for the day that he had the misfortune of discovering _why_ the leadership was in a state.

            Zarkon had come to the carnival.

            Lance encountered the man in question on his way out of the office. The rival owner was approaching from across the grass—enormously tall and horrifyingly muscular. He had a thick scar that stretched from the bottom of his jaw across his mouth to the corner of his eye and cheekbones that looked cut from stone. Lance had never even seen Zarkon and he knew immediately who he was. Though he couldn’t say the same of the two people trailing him.

            One was a woman with a long, pointed face. She looked almost sickly with sunken cheeks and long white hair tucked behind her ears. The other was—Lance could only assume—a supermodel. Tall, perfectly proportioned, well-dressed with a face and expression straight out of a perfume ad. He was young, and his platinum blond hair fell halfway down his back. Pale skin. Like, _elven_ levels of beauty. He smiled as he passed Lance, and his smile was sharp somehow.

            “Good evening,” he said.

            Lance just stared.

            The three of them went up the steps to the office and through the door without any ado. Though the feeling they left lingering on the air behind them was ado enough.

            Pidge appeared in front of Lance a moment later and snapped her fingers in his face.

            “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” she said as Lance started.

            “Harbingers of death at the very least,” Lance replied. She gave him a look and moved toward the office to clock out, but he caught her wrist. “I wouldn’t,” he said. “Zarkon’s in there.”

            “ _Zarkon_ Zarkon?” she asked.

            “How many people in the world do you think are named _Zarkon?_ ” Lance rolled his eyes. “Yes, _Zarkon_ Zarkon.”

            Pidge rubbed her hands together. “I wanna see.”

            She scampered up the steps to the office before Lance could stop her. As she opened the door she chimed a falsely pleasant, “Don’t mind me, just clocking out,” and shut it behind her. Lance held his breath while he waited for her to reemerge. It took about three seconds too long, but she came zooming out, her eyes wide.

            “Is that guy even _human?_ ”

            Lance threw his arms out. “Right?!”

            “I don’t think I’ve ever _seen_ anybody that tall,” she added. “He was like _three_ of me!”

            “At _least_ ,” Lance agreed.

            Hunk approached then, dusting funnel cake powdered sugar from his shirt. “What are we shouting about today?” he asked.

            “Zarkon is here,” Lance replied.

            “ _Zarkon_ Zarkon?”

            Pidge got behind Hunk and pushed, urging him toward the office. “Go look at him, go look at him,” she said. “He’s an absolute monolith.”

            Making a face, Hunk moved hesitantly up the stairs, but when he tried the door to the office, the handle was locked. He looked back over his shoulder at Pidge and Lance, eyebrows raised.

            “Guess they don’t want to be disturbed again,” Lance said with a shrug.

            “They have to come out eventually,” Pidge said, planting her feet. “You should stay, Hunk. This guy has shoulders like you wouldn’t _believe…_ ”

            She started to describe Zarkon to Hunk, and the display included a lot of dramatic hand gestures. Lance kept his eye on the office, tuning Pidge out, wondering instead what the rival owner was doing at the Carnival of Lions in the first place. Then he remembered the reason Keith had had to check out the zoo. Zarkon and his entourage must have been there to talk about Coran’s plan for splitting the city.

            “…there’s no way his eyes were _glowing_ ,” Hunk was saying as Lance tuned back in.

            “I swear to god,” Pidge said. “Glowing.”

            “Why are you all standing out here?”

            The three of them looked to find Keith approaching the office. Romelle wasn’t far behind him, raising her eyebrows at the gathering as well. Before any of them could answer, though, the door to the office opened and drew everyone’s attention. The supermodel guy slipped out and quietly shut the door behind him. His eyes lit up when they landed on Keith and Romelle.

            “Ah, some familiar faces,” he said as he came down the steps.

            Keith didn’t bristle like he had with Zethrid, Ezor, and Acxa, but his lips did curl back in a sneer. To make up for it, though, Romelle looked about ready to punch the guy’s lights out.

            “Lotor,” Keith said, tone dry.

            Romelle’s jaw clenched.

            The guy laughed. “Coran’s cooked up quite a corkboard in there,” he said, coming to a stop at the edge of the group circle, which parted for him naturally. His social presence was just that commanding.

            “Maybe if you and your crew understood boundaries, we wouldn’t have to draw so many lines in the sand,” Keith replied.

            “But are lines in the sand not meant to be crossed?” Lotor asked with another one of those sharp smiles. The question brought a growl out of Romelle, and Keith actually had to grab her hand and hold her back. It made Lotor laugh again. “Come now, we’re all friends here.”

            “I see no friend,” Romelle replied through her teeth.

            Lotor ignored her, turning instead to Lance and Pidge and Hunk. Hunk was nearest and Lotor held out his hand to shake.

            “I believe introductions are in order. I’m Lotor. Zarkon’s son. I run minor operations for my father’s carnival. And your name?”

            Bewildered, Hunk shook hands with the guy. “Hunk,” he said. “I…do…food. And rides? What is going on?” 

            Rather than answer, Lotor moved on to Pidge and offered his hand. She stared at it, then flicked her eyes up to his face without shaking.

            “Pidge,” she said. “Shy games.”

            “A pleasure,” Lotor said, completely unruffled by Pidge’s prickly response. He held his hand out to Lance next, but when he looked at Lance’s face, a flash of recognition crossed his own. Grinning, Lotor straightened and squared his shoulders, tipping his jaw out like he was after his best angle. He found it.

            “Might you be the one who left that lovely purple mark on Zethrid’s jaw?” he asked.

            “Honestly, I’m surprised I made a dent,” Lance replied.

            Lotor let his head fall back as he laughed, apparently not bothered in the least that Lance had basically attacked one of the members of his advance team. Lance glanced at Keith, looking for a cue, but before he could really make eye contact, Lotor was right in his face, long fingers delicately lifting Lance’s chin and turning it toward his own. Lance swallowed. It was too much pretty much too close.

            “Looks like she left her mark on you as well,” Lotor purred.

            The bruises were mostly healed, but they’d been deep, so Lance’s skin was still a little yellow. He stammered at Lotor, but didn’t need to worry about a response as it turned out. A hand in a fingerless glove materialized on Lotor’s shoulder and pulled the guy back. Not gently, either. Chuckling, Lotor shrugged free of Keith’s grasp and put his hands up in submission. His eyes glinted.

            “Message received,” he said.

            “What do you want, Lotor?” Keith growled.

            “Want?” Lotor laughed. “I don’t ‘want’ anything, my dear. We’re here at _Coran’s_ insistence. I was merely sent out to ensure the meeting would not be repeatedly disturbed.”

            He looked to Hunk with a sly expression, then Pidge. Pidge shrugged.

            “Had to clock out,” she said. “Time theft. Serious crime.”

            Lotor smiled. He’d seen through her, but seemed to find it amusing. His eyes flicked to Keith, then Romelle in turn.

            “What do _you_ want?” he asked.

            Romelle opened her mouth, but Keith caught her hand again. He gave her a gentle tug and she fell silent. Lotor grinned at the both of them, which made Romelle glower for the ages. Keith gestured with his head for them to leave.

            “Let’s go,” he said and led Romelle away.

            Hunk glanced at Lotor before following, and Pidge shot the guy a particular stare. Lotor looked to Lance, and again Lance was struck by how damned gorgeous the guy was, but he wasn’t keen on hanging around him alone. In spite of the beauty, Lotor had a bad energy. _That_ was undeniable. So, Lance trotted off to catch Keith and the others up. He could feel Lotor’s eyes on his back the whole way.

            “Is he really Zarkon’s kid?” Pidge was asking as Lance fell into step with her.

            Keith nodded. “He’s a twat, though. Don’t bother with him.”

            “I can’t believe he had the gall to show up here,” Romelle said. Even the tips of her ears were red. “After what he did to us?”

            “What did he do to you?” Hunk asked.

            Romelle opened her mouth, but she was too mad to respond. She sucked in a breath, and then her lips pursed into a hairy scowl. Keith answered for her.

            “He came to work with us for a while,” he said. “It was a big deal, him turning coat on his family business like that. Then he went double agent and screwed _us_ over. Took a quarter of the yearly earnings, some of our ride contracts, and a bunch of our employees.”

            “My brother among them,” Romelle snarled.

            Pidge and Lance and Hunk exchanged expressions.

            “Jeeze,” Hunk said, a little lame. 

            Romelle shook her head and clenched her fists. Her shoulders hunched up around her ears as she stomped her way to the staff trailers.

            “I could strangle Lotor,” she said.

            “Seems like _all_ these people are asking for trouble,” Pidge put in.

            “They find it wherever they go,” Keith replied.

            The group arrived at Romelle’s trailer first, and she let her breath out.

            “I need to cool off for a bit,” she said. “Thank you for stopping me from making a fool out of myself.”

            Keith shrugged. “Just returning the favor.”

            Subdued, she smiled. “Let’s go out to the beach tonight, yeah? All of us?”

            He nodded and said, “Sure,” so Romelle looked at the rest of them. They nodded as well.

            “I’m always up for the beach,” Lance said.

            “We should drive out to Samoa,” Keith said. “I’ll ask Coran if we can borrow the keys to a van.”

            Romelle released another sigh, the prospect of the ocean having already worked a little of its relief magic on her. She went up the steps to her trailer, waved, then disappeared. The rest of them continued down the line of trailers until they arrived at number six. Hunk and Pidge went in, discussing options for beach snacks. Keith gestured at the door.

            “How’s the lack of a screen treating you?” he asked, smug.

            “Ha ha,” Lance grumbled. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stomped up the steps. When he turned around at the top, Keith was smiling.

            “I’ll come get you around seven,” he said, and though the “you” was plural, the sentence still made Lance’s stomach roll.

            He nodded stupidly and rasped an, “Okay,” back.

 

Hunk and Pidge had just finished packing their smorgasbord of food for the beach when the knock sounded at their door. Lance opened it to find Keith with Allura and Romelle behind him, and they all headed out together toward the staff parking lot.

            “I hope you don’t mind my joining you,” Allura said as they walked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, her eyes pointed at her feet. “After today, a break is much needed.”

            “Not at all,” Lance replied. “How’d the, uh, meeting go?”

            She released a massive sigh and shook her head. “About as well as one would expect.”

            “So, bad?”

            The second the parking lot was in sight Pidge bellowed, “ _Shotgun!_ ” and took off. Allura chuckled, but the happy air was quickly replaced with one of exhaustion and stress. Lance decided to stick with her rather than chase Pidge down. Allura looked like she could use the company.

            “They refused our terms,” she said, “which wasn’t exactly a surprise, but they wouldn’t agree to _any_ accords. Coran even went as far as to offer them seventy-five percent of the city’s available resources.”

            “Sheesh.”

            They arrived at the van where Pidge was doing a potty dance by the front passenger door, waiting for Keith to unlock it.  As soon as he did, she scrambled inside. Lance and Allura climbed into the back and Hunk and Romelle took the bucket seats in the middle.

            “They said it ought to be all or nothing,” Allura continued. “Which means we’ll be the ones left with nothing.”

            “Keith told me what happened with Lotor working for the carnival,” Lance said.

            Allura made the single saltiest face Lance had ever seen her make, then snorted.

            “Do these guys, like, have it out for you?” Lance asked. “Between that and Zarkon’s falling out with your dad…” And Keith and Acxa.

            Sighing, Allura shook her head. “Who can say?”

            The two of them were quiet for the rest of the drive, Allura shutting her eyes and Lance wondering if there was anything he could say to help her feel better. The ride took about twenty minutes since the beach was on a strip of land that was separated from the rest of Eureka by a channel and only one road connected them. Eventually, Keith pulled the van into the Samoa Beach parking lot and shut the engine off.

            “Hey, Pidge, take a picture of me by the beach access sign so I can send it to my mom,” Hunk said as he climbed out of the van.

            The pair scampered off, leaving Lance and the others to haul all the junk down the sand between the mounds of thick grass to the beach. Romelle and Allura laid their towels out and sat down. They didn’t linger long, though, shucking their shoes to rise and walk arm-in-arm down to the water to beachcomb. That left Keith and Lance to keep an eye on the stuff. Keith took his shoes off and started unpacking his camera.

            “Sounds like things with Zarkon went to crap,” Lance said. He didn’t really know what to do with himself, so he spread his own towel out, then moved some rocks onto Romelle’s and Allura’s so they wouldn’t blow away.

            Keith nodded. He attached a gigantic lens to his camera body. “Seeing Lotor was hard for both of them,” he said, nodding at Allura and Romelle.

            Lance glanced at him, a question on his face.

            “Allura and Lotor had a thing,” he said. “He hurt her more than anyone when he left. And she blames herself for letting him get so close to the business.”

            Lance scowled. “How old is that guy?”

            “Lotor? Our age. Eighteen at the time.”

            “ _Jeeze_. He acts like he’s, like, thirty!”

            “As I said before: a twat.”

            Frowning, Lance looked across the beach to where Allura and Romelle were wading through the surf and the wet sand, both of them hunched over holding their hair back and collecting shells. Behind them, the waves were breaking white below a sun that had only just started to set. Looked like pretty good swells for surfing.

            Pidge and Hunk arrived at their spot, and Hunk went down to join Romelle and Allura after dropping off the food bag and cooler. Pidge put her towel out and raided the store.

            “You gonna film?” she asked Keith, her mouth full.

            He nodded. “I think maybe this piece is about water.”

            “ _Killer_ water?” she asked.

            Keith laughed, shaking his head. “Knowing me…”

            Lance watched as he carefully crooked his knees to rest the lens atop them and shoot the waves. With the zoom on the thing, none of the beach was even in frame. The screen just showed white water. Lance admired him while he worked, how still he held, the tension in his muscles.

            Something cold and wet tapped against Lance’s upper arm, and he jumped, turning to look at Pidge who was offering him a Gatorade from the cooler.

            “You looked thirsty,” she said.

            He narrowed his eyes at her, unsure if that was a jab or not. If it was, she was playing it remarkably straight-laced. He took the Gatorade, but only so she couldn’t touch him with it again.

            A little call of excitement went up from the trio by the water, and all of them came up the beach a moment later. Flush-faced, Allura lifted her hands, which were gently cupped together. The smile on her mouth was so beautiful, the way the wind ran through her hair now a little salty from the spray off the water so spellbinding. The sun had gone deeper, turning the clouds behind her pink.

            “Look what we found,” she breathed.

            “Hang on,” Keith said from the sand, getting to his feet and turning his lens to Allura.

            Between the subject matter and Keith’s artistic ability, that must have been one of the most gorgeous shots in cinematic history.

            Allura opened her hands to reveal a little sea snail shell. She held her palm out flat and kept still, smiling as everyone crowded around to watch. It took a moment, but a hermit crab peeked out. It tested its surroundings cautiously, legs and claws and antennae and eye stalks uncurling from inside and separating like the pieces of a puzzle. Pidge cooed.

            “Hi, little guy,” she said.

            “I didn’t know they had hermit crabs in Northern California,” Lance said.

            “They have hermit crabs all over the world,” Pidge replied, rolling her eyes. “Show me where you found him. Maybe there are more!”

            Together, those four went back to the water, Keith filming them the whole way down.

            “Good stuff,” Lance commented.

            Keith looked at him, so Lance glanced over, and, for the sake of his heart, he shouldn’t have. With the sun having sunk lower in the sky, Keith’s face was all lit up in orange. It refracted off his hair and eyes and skin, illuminating him like a dream. Lance couldn’t help staring, couldn’t look away. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore seemed to fill his head and he felt like he was under them, churning with the surf.

            Then Pidge was in front of him and grabbing his hand to place another shell in his palm. Dazed, Lance raised his hand to inspect the shy little crab inside. When he looked at Keith next, that lens had been trained on him.

            “Just improving my shot,” Keith said, and ducked behind the camera with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided it's been entirely too long since I've been to the beach.


	9. The Killer with the Colored Kite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo...
> 
> *desperate laughter*
> 
> I only got through HALF my planned content for this chapter.

For as long as he could remember, Keith had never had normal dreams. Other people, when they put their heads on their pillows, dreamt about places and things from their lives, about falling, being chased, showing up late to work or a test. Keith dreamed in colors and concepts. In abstractions.

            That night, his mind was suspended in an unending undulation of navy blue. An opaque ocean that went on forever and somehow was and was not at the same time. The expanse was warm, welcoming. He could see all and none of it simultaneously—indescribably deep and incomprehensively high. Though it extended in every direction infinitely, he understood on instinct that he hung at its center—he was its heart but he was not the ocean.

            Gradually, the color shifted. It grew brighter until it was the sky and Keith had his feet firmly planted on an invisible ground. He stood at the top of a hill he could not see and beheld the dome of the Earth above him and below him like a figurine in a snow globe. He was being looked at; his glass sphere lifted and the liquid and flakes inside swirled around him as everything turned upside down. Music from a music box, above him, below him. Gulls. Waves.

            Sand.

            In his mouth, but not at the beach. A box in the backyard. If he dug deep enough, he’d hit dirt. Weeds would grow in it and he’d have to dig them out, dig a tunnel all the way to the other side of the world—to Korea. To ask his mother if she was happy with her decision to leave, if she was really dead—and could he join her?

            Green, grass and weeds, then water. Fear like claws that gripped his sternum from the inside because the claws were his own. He was drowning, but it didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt because he couldn’t feel, couldn’t move, could only look in on himself as if from above, outside, all around. A three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view as that Keith lost consciousness and this Keith—unconscious—watched.

            Black. Black forever. Black for always. Cold and comprehensive, but hot in the middle. Heat that grew until it consumed him and the forever in a fiery red that went from red to orange to white.

            The white was a hospital and his heart was beeping. The flat surface against his back warmed, became un-flat, his heart beeped faster, and now he was in an embrace as deep and expansive as the blue in the beginning. In his hands were other hands. In his hands was a string. He tugged on it and somewhere, somewhere he could not see, a kite dipped.

            Then Keith woke up.

            He sucked in a breath. Had he been holding it while he’d slept? The breath huffed from his lungs almost immediately. There wasn’t room.

            Rolling over, he reached for his phone on the floor and pulled it off its charger cord. Sunday. Eight AM. Himself awake fifteen minutes before his alarm.

            Keith collapsed onto his pillow and tried to catch his breath. It had been a while since he’d had a dream that intense. Staring at the bottom of the storage cabinets above his bed, he tried to make sense of it. As usual, he couldn’t. Back when he’d first started getting into film, he’d made works based on his dreams, but every single one of them had come out a pile of steaming garbage that didn’t remotely convey the emotion he’d been after. He’d given up trying to understand how his own mind worked shortly thereafter.

            _This_ dream, however. This dream bore— _hold on._

            He picked up his phone again and looked at the screen. The background was different. He’d had it set to the black wallpaper from the section of defaults that had come with the phone. Now it was the top of Pidge’s head down to her nose, peeking up from the bottom of the screen, blurry and out-of-focus with the flash having washed out most of her features. The top two-thirds of the picture were black, which might have explained why he hadn’t noticed until then, but _how had he not noticed?_

            He unlocked his phone and the Notes app was open, as was a new note. “Your birth year is not a valid passcode,” it said.

            Keith chuckled, but the laugh choked in his throat when he closed the note.

            Pidge had changed the inside background as well. To a picture she must have taken when Keith wasn’t paying attention. It was him and Lance on Samoa Beach. _Just_ him and Lance on Samoa Beach—the sun setting on the water behind them. Standing much closer together than Keith remembered and, _shit_ , was that what his face looked like every time he looked at Lance?

            Probably.

            Definitely.

            That face was the way he _felt_ every time he looked at Lance.

            He was mildly irritated, however, at how transparently gay the expression was. 

            His thumb tapped the Settings app and he scrolled down to Wallpaper. He clicked through until he found the straight black image in the defaults. When he hit the button to reset it as his background, though, he hesitated, thumb lingering in the air above “Set Lock Screen”, “Set Home Screen”, and “Set Both”. It drifted toward both, then his heart pinched and his brows furrowed and he clicked just lock screen instead.

            Then practically chucked his phone across the room.

            Christ, Christ, Christ, he was in way too goddamn deep.

            And Pidge _knew_.

            How did Pidge know?

            He flew to retrieve his phone again, and had opened both it and his messages before he realized he didn’t have her phone number. Except for that he did. Now. The app opened onto a new conversation with a single message bubble—from him—reading, “Youthanasia”. The recipient’s name was the pigeon head emoji. 

            He typed a new message out.

            _when did my name get on your shit list_

            The response bubble popped up almost immediately.

            _When you set your effin’ passcode to the next worst thing after 1234, compadre_

Another bubble from Pidge, then: _You like your surprise?_ with the emoji blowing a kiss.

            Keith sent back _stalker_

            And received _Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeith_ in return.

           

He laughed. Sent:

_what_

_Don’t make me come over there and cut your dumb mullet off_

_I will_

_I know where you sleep_

_creep_

_Only when provoked_

Keith didn’t know what to say. Should he own up to it? Pidge already knew, she was only after confirmation. And whether he told her outright, stopped responding, or faked a denial she would have her answer. She wasn’t stupid.

 

_how about an exchange_

_Color me intrigued~_

_Quid pro quo_

_Name your price, gamemaster_

He took a deep breath.

 

_I like my surprise_

_would he_

The thirty seconds that followed were agonizing. His heart hammered in his chest, going so fast he could barely breathe. It took too long for Pidge’s response bubble to pop up, especially given how fast she’d replied before. Those three blinking dots almost sent Keith to his death while he waited for them to become words.

            And he died when they did.

 

_Oh yeah_

 

            Keith’s everything short circuited. When he blinked back into conscious existence, he had several more messages from Pidge.

 

_Don’t tell him I told you_

_He’d wreck my whole shit_

_Keith_

_If you tell him_

_Your mullet won’t be the only thing I cut off_

Keith stared at the kissy face emoji at the bottom of those texts. More popped up before he could configure a response.

 

_In fact, I’m deleting the texts right now_

_Bye-bye incriminating evidence_

_I hope Keith deletes you from his phone, too_

_So I don’t have to delete certain parts of his anatomy_

_pidge are you serious_

_That I will physically harm you? Yes_

_But also_

_Yes_

If he had thought his heart had been beating hard before, he’d thought wrong. He almost couldn’t think or see straight with how quickly it was going now. Pidge was a tease, yes, but not this kind of tease. She wouldn’t lie to him, fabricate an elaborate story to get a jibe in. That wasn’t her style. No, if anything she was simply making use of material already in front of her.

 

_oh my god_

_Pretty much_

_pidge oh my GOD_

_More texts for you to delete:_

_Seriously. Delete them._

_Lance is a lost cause when it comes to follow through_

_It might be up to you_

Keith drew in a deep, deep breath. Up to him? He knew what she meant, but _up to him?_ There were massive implications behind that phrase, the largest and most intimidating being the idea that Lance _wanted_ follow through.

            Keith’s mind raced—raced through recollections of the boy in question. Lance leaning into the frame of Keith’s camera on the beach in Crescent City. Lance playing “Havana” on a borrowed guitar. Lance under the lights of the chair-o-plane, getting tackled by Pidge in the woods, watching Keith’s films, following him out of the Denny’s, landing a hit on Zethrid at the zoo, letting Keith bandage him afterward. Lance right beside him all the way on the Fireball. Lance on another beach, in another frame, looking at a hermit crab with those blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue eyes.

            Christ.

            A new message popped up on his screen.

 

_I’m going to WinCo. Do you want anything?_

_no why_

                        ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_what the hell pidge_

But she stopped replying after that.

 

Keith had a difficult time shaking off the resulting gay panic. He paced the length of his room for ten minutes until his alarm buzzed. He threw himself into a set of clothes for the day and left the trailer without saying a word to Shiro. He swept through the office, clocked in, checked the team leader schedule for no reason, and stood flipping through the papers for a length of time he couldn’t determine because he’d noticed Lance’s name on the employee schedule next to it and remembered how seeing that text from Pidge had made him feel. That had short circuited him again.

            “Keith…?”

            Startling, he turned to look at Allura, who was seated behind her desk.

            “Are you all right?”

            He swallowed, nodded. She returned him with an expression of disbelief, but didn’t press.

            “Thank you for allowing me to come along with you last night,” she said. “It’s been too long since I spent time with people my own age.”

            “Anytime,” Keith replied.

            “I’d love to see that footage you shot,” she said.

            “Uh-huh.”

            The two syllables went shrill. Most of that footage was of Lance. Lance on the beach, which seemed his natural habitat. Lance in the water, which seemed an extension of his body. Lance and sea. Lance and sand. Lance and sky. _Christ_.

            Was Pidge really telling the truth?

            He found himself wanting to doubt her as he left the office and made his way toward the fairgrounds to begin his shift. Then he found himself literally running into her behind one of the freezer trucks for food storage. She screamed, raising a hammer in defense. Keith jumped back, putting his hands up.

            “Where did you come from?!” she cried.

            “Where did _you_ come from?” he replied. “Why do you have a hammer?”

            Her eyes flicked to the tool in her hands, then she hid it behind her back, tucking it into her pants.

            “Don’t worry about it,” she said.

            The two of them regarded each other for a moment. Neither wanted to be the first to address the elephant, but Keith couldn’t let the subject go. Just as he opened his mouth, Pidge spoke.

            “Give me your phone,” she said.

            “What?”

            She put her hand out and motioned with her fingers. “Gimme.”

            Stunned, Keith obeyed, fishing his phone from his back pocket and passing it to Pidge. She typed in his passcode, then rolled her eyes.

            “How’d I know you wouldn’t change it,” she grumbled. She clicked through for several seconds before handing it back to him with a pointed grin. “Evidence gone.”

            Keith looked at the screen—open to the text feed between him and Pidge. Now it only displayed the conversation about her going to WinCo. She snatched the phone back before he could comment or question.

            “Better delete this too…” she said.

            The next time his phone landed in his hand, the text feed was blank.

            “What the hell, Pidge?”

            She shrugged, grabbing at the hammer before it could slip too far down the back of her pants. Again, they regarded each other. Now was his chance.

            “Were you…um…” Keith’s face flushed, and he turned his eyes toward his feet. “Were you telling the truth?”

            Pidge was silent.

            Keith held his breath.

            He kept his gaze on his shoes for as long as he could bear before finally raising his head to look at her. The look on Pidge’s face surprised him. She’d turned serious, stony. Solemn. It was the most adult he’d seen her look the entire time they’d known each other. She held his eye.

            “I don’t give a shit about most things, but this—” She gestured between the two of them with her hammer, then at their surroundings. “—is a line I wouldn’t cross.”

            He didn’t know what to say.

            “Here’s the thing, my dude,” Pidge said. Folding her arms, hammer and all, she leaned against the side of the freezer truck. “Whatever is going on between the two of you, I’ve never seen Lance like this.”

            “Nothing’s—”

            “Zip it.”

            Keith pressed his lips together.

            “I know my role as friend and secret-keeper,” she continued. “And in spite of what you may view as evidence to the contrary, I take that role very seriously. He’s my _best_ friend.” She raised her eyebrows as if to impress that point upon him. “And I am privy to…certain information…not everybody else is and I know that that’s a big deal, _capisce?_ ”

            Keith nodded.

            “But being Lance’s best friend, I also know that he’s an idiot.”  

            A helpless laugh fell from Keith’s mouth. Pidge smiled.

            “He’s never dated a guy before,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t think he really knows what to do, and…given the way he interacts with you, I didn’t want to see him let a good thing slip away because he was too afraid to _do_ something about it.”

            Sighing, she turned her gaze to the middle distance and squinted.

            “Though I _may_ have officially overstepped.”

            Keith shook his head in a hurry. “No,” he interjected.

            Her eyes flicked to him and she offered a sly smile. Blushing, clearing his throat, Keith took a step back.

            “I mean…thanks.”

            “Sure,” Pidge replied, still smiling. “Don’t forget though…” She brandished the hammer in a vaguely threatening way. “…if you tell him I said anything…”

            “Bodily harm,” Keith replied. “Understood.”

            “You catch on so quickly.”

            She patted his arm, then moved away, trotting down the remainder of the freezer truck like she hadn’t just promised to hurt him. At the end, she turned around and hollered.

            “And for god’s sake make it soon! I’m _dying_ over here.”

            Keith blushed, and Pidge disappeared around the end of the truck with a gleeful cackle.

            Their second conversation only doubled the gay panic induced by the first.

 

He stayed out of sorts the whole first half of his shift. Between his dream and new knowledge, Keith struggled to process much of anything. He ate lunch with Romelle. They talked about things he couldn’t remember. Then he went back to work. And Lance was there.

            Shiro had stationed him on the chair-o-plane again, and when Keith looked, he saw for a moment a flash of that first night the carnival had been open. Darkness and lights.

            Then Lance looked his direction and all he could see was blue.

            When Keith resurfaced, he was standing in the doorframe of the operator’s booth. Words were spilling from his mouth, but he was unconscious of them, whatever they were. Lance was so close and, _god_ , so gorgeous. Like knowing he liked Keith back had somehow made him more attractive. Or like he knew that Keith knew and had decided to _make_ himself more attractive. Or something. Jesus H. Christ. Lance’s features were so sharp. Keith found himself fantasizing about running his tongue along the line of that jaw.

            “Earth to Keith, come in Keith.”

            Keith snapped back to attention, and Lance laughed—a sound that made Keith’s knees go weak.

            “Can I, like, do my job?” Lance asked with a chuckle, pointing out the doorway. He needed to go let the next round of riders on the chair-o-plane.

            Nodding, Keith feebly stepped to the side to let Lance pass and took a deep breath once he was gone. The guy seemed collected, totally nonplussed by Keith’s presence. Not at all like how Keith felt. His mind flicked again through both conversations with Pidge, searching for a reason to doubt her. He couldn’t find one. His eyes flicked to Lance, now checking everybody’s seatbelts on their swings. His heart pinched.

            He didn’t deserve someone like Lance—somebody cheerful and kind. Not Keith with his metric ton of baggage and flair for the dramatic. He’d drain all that kindness in a matter of minutes, like pulling the plug on a bathtub. Good will only lasted so long, and Keith had bled more than one person dry with his shit. It was why he’d started keeping people at a distance. Not for his sake—but for theirs.

            Suddenly, Lance was slipping by him, and he smelled so _clean_. Keith stared, overwhelmed, while Lance gave the ride start-up speech and pressed the button to make it go. He leaned against the stool in the booth and his lips moved again, but Keith didn’t hear what he said until,

            “You okay, man?”

            “Huh?”

            “Did something happen this morning?”

            Oh, things had happened.

            “I thought maybe Zarkon finally getting here would mean his crew would back off, but…” Lance shrugged. “Everything’s just gotten worse.”

            Keith let his breath out. “Zarkon’s the root of it all, really,” he said, grateful for the cover.

            Lance nodded. “Yeah. The energy’s weird. More intense.”

            Keith had to agree with him.

            “Do you think things will go bad for us once they open? Or will they be too busy?”

            “Zarkon’s never too busy to give us the finger,” Keith replied.

            With an angry laugh, Lance shook his head. “I wish I had it in me to, like, _do_ something, you know?”

            Keith’s heart thudded. “You did.”

            Lance looked at him, brows raised, and it took everything in Keith not to get trapped in those eyes.

            “Zethrid was pissed enough to give Lotor an accurate description of you,” he said. “Usually she wouldn’t pay attention to somebody she fought, but Lotor _recognized_ you. Which means she must have talked about you a lot.”

            Lance had also done a decent amount of firefighting when it came to Keith-related drama, plenty of talking him down, so much listening. Nobody had ever really asked how Keith had felt following the fallout with Acxa. Nobody had ever followed him away from a group of people when he abandoned conversations, much less done so _multiple_ times. It made Keith’s heart constrict. Already he was bleeding Lance dry.

            “Doesn’t feel like enough,” Lance said with a shrug.

            Keith’s heart constricted again. “It was.”

            Lance turned his eyes to Keith, and this time Keith did get lost. Those irises were bright, blindingly so. Keith couldn’t see anything else—like lying in an open field and looking up at the sky. It hurt for a reason he couldn’t explain.

            “Let me know when you want to take your fifteen,” he heard himself say, distant and muffled. Underwater.

            “Cool,” Lance replied. His own voice was vibrant.

            Keith left before he could drown.

 

The revelation’s intensity gradually eased. Keith spent the rest of Sunday in a daze, but woke Monday with his head less fuzzy. He was careful around Lance—observing everything and saying nothing. While he believed Pidge, he’d begun to wonder if he did because she was reliable, or because he _wanted_ what she’d said to be true. Surprise, surprise, Keith had trust issues. And was far from an expert in any social situation.

            Come Tuesday, he was desperate for solitude. A clear head. He packed his film equipment and asked Coran if he could borrow a car. Half an hour later, Keith pulled into the empty parking lot at Trinidad State Beach and sat in the silence for a moment, his head against the headrest, eyes tracing the lines and pines of the mound of land that jutted into the water and framed one end of the beach.

            When he got out of the car and put the pieces of his camera together, he took himself to the hiking trail, which circled that mound, rather than going to the beach. He walked the trail, climbing in elevation, until he arrived at a bench with a view of the cove.

            The wind blew through his hair and across his ears, filling his head with white noise. His breath was deep with exercise but not exertion. Keith sat, set up a tripod, trained his camera on the cove. Then he pulled out a notebook and wrote.

            Scripts, when they did come, came easily. This was not one of those days.

            Keith still didn’t know what he wanted to say, what this new piece was even about. He’d told Pidge water, but that was more a visual motif. What _about_ water? What did water mean?

            A list of words populated on his notebook page.

            _Rebirth, purity, flow, rain, hurricane, ocean, river, lake, waterfall, force, power, blue, green, white, rapids, drowning, sailing, the unknown_

            He circled that last one. Readjusted his shot.

            In frame: the ocean until it became horizon.

            Keith kept writing.

            _Dear Dad,_

_I don’t know why we start stuff like this with “dear” but it feels wrong to use anything else. Wherever you are, I hope it’s nice. I hope you’re happy._

_I don’t know if I think you’re anywhere. I haven’t decided yet. It’s hard to let go of the idea of life after death because the second you let go, there’s nothing. “Nothing” is more terrifying to me than the concept of heaven and hell. At least if you’re in hell, you still exist. You didn’t just wink out of the universe. If there is a hell, though, I’d have a hard time believing you were in it._ _That’s not where higher powers send people who run into burning buildings to save other people’s children_.

            _I don’t know if I’ve forgiven you for that yet. I think it messed me up a lot, but maybe I just want something to blame my shit on that doesn’t have anything to do with me. If it’s someone else’s fault that I behave the way I do, then maybe that will absolve me of responsibility. Maybe I’ll end up in heaven and they’ll transfer you to hell._ _I had a foster parent once who talked about that incessantly—the sins of the children answered upon the heads of the fathers or something._

_I don’t know if that’s the case, but if it is, I’m sorry. You’ll probably have a lot of answering to do._

            Keith looked up. The sound of the wind changed with the angle of his head. He stared over the water and the breeze stung his eyes. He swallowed, drew in a deep breath of salty air, and released it. Finished his letter.

            _Your son,_

_Keith_

            He sat still for a while after that, letting his thoughts drift across his mind without grabbing hold of any of them. He watched the waves in their never-ending procession to the shore—the crest, the crash, the recession. Waves had been beating against the coast for so many thousands of years, they’d turned rock into sand. Dust to dust, but beaches were beautiful. Nobody looked at a beach and saw slow destruction. Nobody but Keith.

            Again, with the dramatics.

            Rising, he hiked back down the trail, then across the beach itself, pausing here and there to frame and film whatever caught his eye. Unthinking, but focused—lost in the process of nebulous creation.

            When he returned to the fairgrounds, something about the atmosphere was off. Part of him wanted to restart the car and maybe just drive it north until it ran out of gas, but then he caught sight of Lotor following Allura through the parking lot, the latter fumbling with a set of keys and looking ready to combust as she moved in swift escape, the former with his hands out in embarrassing supplication.

            Keith got out of the car.

            “Hey,” he called—the first he’d spoken in hours. “Back off.”

            Both Allura and Lotor looked up with a start. Allura’s face flashed with relief and she altered course to put herself alongside Keith. Lotor looked nervous for but an instant, covering the alarm up with one of his smiles.

            “Keith, you’re looking well.”

            “Go to hell.”

            Lotor’s next step stuttered. Allura reached Keith, and together the two of them regarded the young man from a distance he no longer seemed keen to cross.

            “He claims he learned what our meeting with Zarkon was about and that he wants to agree to Coran’s terms,” Allura said in a hissing whisper. “I asked him to leave, but he wouldn’t.”

            It was rare to see Allura flustered, but if there was one person in the world who got under her skin, it was Lotor. He must have been at the carnival for some time given the state she was in. How far had he had to push her before she’d grabbed a set of keys and set off to find a car to escape him? Keith glanced at the keyring she was carrying. None of them were for vehicles.

            “Here,” Keith said, pressing the key for the car he’d borrowed into her hand.

            “Thank you, Keith,” Allura breathed. She climbed into the driver’s seat without any hesitation. All of Keith’s equipment was still on the passenger side, but it’d be safe with Allura.

            “Wait—” Lotor said, taking a step forward.

            Keith moved to block him, and Allura closed her door. She started the car, threw it into reverse, and left the lot in a cloud of gravel dust. Lotor and Keith stood staring at each other for some time after that.

            “It was not my intent to harm her,” Lotor said.

            “Too late,” Keith replied.

            Lotor’s expression hardened. “Surely you desire reconciliation as much as we do.”

            “Define ‘we.’”

            Unsurprisingly, Lotor ignored the imperative. He stepped closer to Keith and looked down at him, eyes full of something between disdain and superiority.

            “This is not a battle your pathetic excuse for a carnival will ever win,” Lotor growled. “It is not in your best interest to refuse me.”

            “Leave.”

            Lotor opened his mouth.

            “ _Leave_.”

            Keith knew how to be menacing when he wanted, and he channeled all of his energy then. Lotor’s eyes flashed—afraid perhaps—and he fell silent. Keith wondered how he must have looked from the outside. He _felt_ feral. The threat worked on Lotor for a moment, but the young man soon squared his shoulders and straightened his back. He stepped up to Keith and took hold of his face in one hand, pressing sharp fingers into Keith’s cheeks.

            “Such a pity to see a face as lovely as yours look so ugly, Keith,” Lotor said.

            Keith shoved him off. “Touch me again—”

            Laughing, Lotor did exactly that, grasping Keith’s jaw with his other hand. Keith slapped his arm away with a snarl. It only made Lotor smile.

            “So much fire.”

            So much for a clear head.

            Keith grabbed a fistful of Lotor’s shirt and yanked the guy forward. Bearing his teeth, he glared into Lotor’s face, now a mere inch from his own.

            “Then you should leave before you get burned.”

            He released his grip and shoved Lotor back. Lotor smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt, never breaking eye contact. His smile had finally faltered, however. That was enough to let Keith know he’d won. Saying nothing, Lotor simply nodded and walked away. Keith kept his eyes on his back until he disappeared from sight.

 

Allura returned half an hour later and dropped Keith’s equipment off to him. He could tell she wasn’t in the mood to discuss what had happened with Lotor, so he thanked her. And she thanked him. And the two of them stood in silence in front of Keith’s trailer for a moment before Allura sighed.

            “I shouldn’t have let him get the better of me,” she said.

            “They get the better of me all the time,” Keith replied with a self-deprecating smile.

            “We ought to try to keep contact to a minimum until we leave next week.”

            Keith nodded, but it was not to be. Lotor returned that night as well, and he brought company. Keith found out when someone rapped their knuckles on his window from outside and scared the shit out of him. The jumpscare was enough, but the words that followed had Keith’s pulse spiking double.

            “Acxa’s here,” Shiro announced. “With Lotor. Fair warning. They all are. You may want to stay in.”

            “What?” Keith called.

            But Shiro didn’t reply.

            “Shiro, what? What the hell?”

            Keith got up from his bed where he’d been reviewing the footage he’d shot that day and went to the window, but when he pulled the blinds, nobody was there. Another pulse spike. He peered around, wondering if he’d imagined it, morbidly curious, but also incredibly wary. If Acxa really was at the carnival…

            Thirty minutes later, Keith had thrown a jacket on and swept into the fairgrounds, still having yet to learn some self-care.

            The bastards weren’t hard to find—in line for the Ferris wheel—all four of them with smug looks on their faces, Ezor shoveling a bucket of popcorn into her mouth. As paying guests, they’d be safe from getting kicked out of the carnival as long as they behaved themselves. Keith should have known they’d pull a stunt like this eventually, and had probably exacerbated the situation that afternoon during his interaction with Lotor. He nearly marched straight up to them to start some shit, Allura’s warning entirely forgotten, but an additional surprise startled him into stillness.

            Lance and Pidge and Hunk were in line for the Ferris wheel as well. With equally smug looks on their faces. Pidge flagged Keith down.

            “Hey! Youthanasia! Come ride the Ferris wheel with us!”

            Bewildered, Keith covered the rest of the distance and joined his coworkers at the back of the line. Lotor, Acxa, Zethrid, and Ezor all glared, but Pidge and Hunk and Lance made a big show of ignoring their irritation. Keith glanced between both groups, but neither seemed willing to acknowledge the other. Pidge clapped a hand on his shoulder.

            “We decided to sample the Carnival of Lions’ offerings tonight,” she said. “After the Fireball contest, we realized that we really _should_ be more familiar with the rides and games and whatnot.”

            “Okay…”

            Keith lifted his gaze from Pidge, and his eyes fell on Acxa. She looked away with a glare.

            Pidge rattled off a spiel about how it was their duty as employees to be able to recommend the best experience to their guests, and how there was no better way to spend their day off than in pursuit of better job performance. Keith didn’t listen. He couldn’t really hear her. Not over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. The situation was too volatile. Too much tinder. So many people willing to spark a flame. Keith and Acxa. Keith and Zethrid. Zethrid and Lance. Lotor and everybody.

            Lost in the bad energy, Keith didn’t notice the line had moved forward until he found himself one away from the loading platform and Lance somehow that one. He glanced back at Pidge in a panic, and she ducked behind Hunk with a grin.

            So Keith wound up in a gondola with Lance, both of them seated with as much distance between them as they could manage—Zethrid and Ezor above them, Hunk and Pidge below.

            “We’ve been following Lotor’s posse around since they got here,” Lance said once the ride was in motion. His voice was muffled by his hand, on which he’d propped his chin to pointedly focus in the direction opposite Keith.

            “You _what?_ ”

            Startling, Lance looked at Keith and shrugged. “We haven’t said anything.”

            Keith stared.

            “We just wanted to make sure they didn’t, like, _do_ anything, you know? And it also happened to be the perfect way to piss them off, so…”

            Keith continued to stare. He couldn’t stop. His heart beat so loud and hard in his chest he would swear the whole fairgrounds could hear it. Why? What right did this idiot have to be so wonderful? Why did he care at all? The fight with Lotor wasn’t his fight. None of it was. The beef with Zarkon was old and stale and it _didn’t belong to Lance_. But there he was, throwing himself into the fray of his own volition. Steady and loyal. Ready to bite.

            Keith had scarcely drawn breath than his nose was inches from Lance’s. He didn’t know what he was doing, where this was going, but he didn’t miss the way Lance’s own breath hitched. It made a grin unfurl on his mouth.

            Then something landed on his head.

            Keith looked up in time to take the next piece of popcorn in the eye. Above them, Ezor snorted. She made little effort to be discreet as she aimed another kernel at the pair of them.

            “Hi, Mr. Flippity,” she chimed. “Hi, Mama Bear!”

            Opening his mouth, Keith drew in a breath to shout at her, but Lance put his hand out, almost touching Keith’s chest.

            “Don’t,” he said.

            Keith’s eyes flicked to Lance’s hand. Lance noticed how close his limb was and withdrew it with a blush. Both of them swallowed. A couple more pieces of popcorn dropped onto the seat between them. Ezor giggled.

            “Cloudy with a chance of kernels!”

            Their gondolas crested the Ferris wheel then and started down the other side, putting Zethrid and Ezor below them rather than above. Keith glanced up and noticed Pidge peeking over the edge of her gondola. She stuck her arm out and gave him a thumbs up. He shook his head at her.

            He and Lance sat in tense silence until their gondola started to ascend once more, when their silence was broken by Ezor.

            “You boys hungry?” she asked.

            They ignored her.

            “Hey! I asked you a question!”

            Keith’s hands clenched. Lance looked at him, brows drawn together.

            “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore people?”

            An entire bucket of popcorn spilled onto their heads. The bucket itself was not far behind. It bounced off the side of their cart and continued to fall. So did some of the popcorn. The patrons in the lower gondolas shouted at them, and Ezor started to laugh. Keith couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

            “What the hell is your problem?!”

            Ezor clapped her hands together. “Yes! Got him!”

            “You’re the problem, Kogane,” Zethrid hollered. “Sending your little friends to babysit. Siccing your dog on us at the zoo.”

            They went over the top of the Ferris wheel again, so Keith had to lean over the front of the cart to shout, “I didn’t do that! Why the hell are you here in the first place? What did you expect?”

            “We’re customers, we should be able to enjoy the carnival same as anybody else,” Ezor replied with a pout.

            Keith glared. “Oh, shut up, Ezor, we both know you’re not here for the carnival.”

            “What is going on up there?” Lotor called from beneath Ezor and Zethrid. 

            Nobody gratified him with a response. Instead, Keith pushed the popcorn on the seat from the cart. His timing was off, however, and the kernels missed them, landing harmlessly on the ride platform as the cart moved past the loading area. He craned his neck to look above as the two of them looked down.

            “Watch it, Kogane,” Zethrid snarled.

            “I didn’t start this,” Keith replied.

            “Course you did,” Ezor said. “It all started with you.”

            “Shut _up_.”

            Zethrid glared. “Don’t tell her to shut up.”

            “I’ll do whatever the f—”

            The word died the instant a wad of spit and phlegm connected with the bridge of Keith’s nose. His eyes snapped shut, shocked. Ringing in his ears. He dissociated for a moment while his hand reached up to wipe the spit from his face. When his eyes opened, they locked with Zethrid’s—glinting and grinning victorious. Had his blood not already been boiling, that certainly would have done it.

            “Oh my god.”

            He’d forgotten Lance was there.

            “Oh my god,” Lance said again. “Keith…?”

            But this was the wheel’s last cycle, and the second the operator had opened the door to their cart, Keith took off across the platform and hunted Zethrid down through the crowd like a wolf after a rabbit. He grabbed her shoulder and whipped her around. She went into defense mode, snarling and shrugging him off.

            “Apologize,” Keith barked.

            “Like shit,” Zethrid replied.

            “Apologize! Now!”

            She laughed at him, and the sound took Keith back to high school. Back to the one thousand and one times she’d taunted him then. Back to the helplessness and the fury. Christ, he wanted to do something—anything—to make that feeling go away. He was so goddamn sick of being helpless. His lip curled up to expose his teeth. That just made her laugh again.

            “No,” she said.

            Keith almost let go. He was a hair’s breadth away from relinquishing control and letting whatever was going to happen, happen. Dive headfirst into the unknown, let the invisible liquid of fate turn him upside down or inside out or tear him limb from limb. He didn’t care.

            Then something happened that he did not expect.

            Lance stepped up beside him. Then Pidge. Then Hunk.

            “I think you should leave,” Lance said.

            Lotor, Acxa, and Ezor appeared behind Zethrid, evidently having just noticed she wasn’t with them.

            “You can’t make me,” she snapped.

            Pidge shrugged. “No, but if you start a scene that might change.” She smiled when Zethrid narrowed her eyes. “I played comp soccer as a kid _and_ I have an older brother. I know how to fake an injury.”

            While the threat wasn’t particularly menacing, the way Pidge said it would have sent chills down anyone’s spine. Frowning, Zethrid took a step back. Lotor and the others moved forward to flank her. A stalemate followed during which the two groups sized each other up. Waited. Wondered who would break first.

            It was Acxa.

            Keith’s heart dropped into his stomach as she shifted away from Lotor and came toward him. She held his eye. As much as Keith wanted to, he couldn’t look away.

            Then there was a hand in his.

            And his fingers closed around Lance’s reflexively.

            “ _Go_ ,” Lance said.

            Whatever Acxa had been about to say, she swallowed it. Her gaze flicked to Lance. She nodded at him—once, curt. Then she turned around and walked away, hissing something at Lotor and the others as she passed them. With a few final glares, they fell away, trailing after Acxa and disappearing into the crowd. Keith let his breath out.

            “Man, those guys are nasty,” Hunk said, shaking his head.

            “Grade A garbage,” Pidge agreed. “Literal dumpster fires.”

            Lance dipped his head to catch Keith’s gaze. “You okay?”

            Nodding, Keith looked up, and his eyes connected with Lance’s. The dawning weight and warmth of their hands finally came clear to the both of them, and they let go with a start. Lance flushed. Keith fought not to lean forward and kiss those bright red cheeks.

            “We should go make sure they actually leave the property,” Pidge said.

            She started off, and Hunk followed suit, followed shortly thereafter by Lance. The latter gave Keith a lingering look as we walked away.

            Keith stared at that picture of the two of them Pidge had set as his phone background for fifteen minutes before he went to sleep that night.

 

Zarkon’s Family Fun Fare opened on Thursday. Attendance at the Carnival of Lions, which had been steadily declining regardless, dropped by half. Things were worse on Friday. The carnival managed to break even on operating costs, but failed to turn a profit. Saturday put them in the red. By Sunday, Coran had decided it would be more profitable for the carnival to pack up and leave for San Francisco early than to stay on and try to compete with Zarkon.

            “I’d rather invest in last minute booking fees than risk another day like yesterday,” he said at the team leader meeting that morning.

            “Are our next fairgrounds even available?” Allura asked.

            “I’ve sent word to the advance team,” Coran replied. “We should hear back by this afternoon.”

            They did, and they were, so the Carnival of Lions prepared to strike that night.

            “I don’t know, man,” Hunk said, chatting with Keith as the two of them dismantled the Gravitron. “It just kind of feels like we’re turning tail. I think it’s the right choice, but it does make me wish they weren’t getting the last laugh.”

            “Even if we weren’t leaving, they would have found a way,” Keith replied. “Trust me.”

            “Can I interest you gentlemen in a bottle of water?” Pidge called, approaching with a basket of Dasani, which she chucked at their heads when they nodded. Climbing onto the ride, she sat down and made herself comfortable. “What are we talking about?”

            “Zarkon getting the last laugh,” Hunk replied.

            Pidge grinned. “Oh. Don’t even _worry_ about that.”

            “Why?” Hunk frowned. “What are you planning?”

            “Nothing,” she responded. “But speaking of planning, any chance I can talk the Best Driver in the Whole Wide World to drive me through a Redwood tree on our way to San Francisco?” Clasping her hands together, she batted her eyelashes at Keith.

            He chuckled. “Only if you promise to drop the ‘best driver’ thing.”

            She opened her hands. “Consider it dropped. Like so many undeserving TV shows.”

            “What?”

            “Don’t, man,” Hunk warned. “Or she’ll never shut up about _Dollhouse_.”

            “That is Joss Whedon’s best work and you can _fight_ me,” Pidge said.

            Hunk drew in the world’s deepest breath to respond, so Keith jumped in before the conversation could turn into an all-out debate.

            “I think there are a couple drive-thru trees on the route to San Francisco. I’ll make it happen.”

            Leaping to her feet, Pidge pumped a fist in the air. “Yes! God bless you, Keith.”

            He shook his head with a smile. “You’re welcome.”

            She scampered off, and Keith exchanged expressions with Hunk before they got back to work. Quiet for a moment, then Keith asked a question.

            “She really thinks _Dollhouse_ is better than _Buffy?_ ”

            Hunk just laughed.

 

The carnival finished packing around six o’clock, ready for departure the following morning. Shiro insisted on hosting a staff party at their trailer to boost morale, and Keith didn’t have the heart to tell him no. He did, however, lurk in his room until he heard Hunk’s voice outside. His pulse raced. Because Hunk undoubtedly meant Lance.

            Rising, Keith went to his door, but lingered a moment with his hand on the knob.

            How many days had it been since Pidge had let the cat out of the bag? How many days had it been since the incident on the Ferris wheel? Keith’s stomach turned. How many more days would he waste dreaming about Lance instead of talking to him?

            He forced himself to leave his room, then forced himself to leave the trailer. The gathering for Shiro’s party so far was modest, but Keith knew the numbers would grow. He stood on the top step and surveyed the group for Hunk, but his eyes fell on Lance first. The sickening elation that twisted his gut made him want to strangle something. It hurt, looking at Lance. He didn’t know how to make it not hurt anymore.

            Pidge wasn’t with them, so at least he had a decent conversation starter.

            “You leave the kids at home?” he asked, trying to convince himself he was being funny by putting on a wry smile. The question earned a chuckle from Hunk, but nothing from Lance. The latter turned at Keith’s approach and stayed silent.

            “Actually, neither of us know where Pidge went,” Hunk replied.

            “Ominous,” Keith replied. He swallowed, trying to ignore the way Lance was staring at him. A fruitless effort, honestly.

            Hunk shrugged. “She’ll turn up.”

            “She’d better. I spent an hour researching the stupid drive-thru trees.”

            That broke Lance out of his stillness. “We’re driving through a redwood tomorrow?” he asked, face lighting up. The expression made Keith’s heart ache.

            “Uh-huh,” he said.

            Romelle arrived and rescued Keith from his lack of anything else to say. She had plenty, as she always did, and the four of them found a place to sit and settled into easy conversation. Keith contributed where he could, but was largely lost in Lance. He was so pretty. And so nice. And their hands fit together perfectly. And he _liked Keith back_. But… Keith was a disaster. A wildfire only partially contained. A change in the wind, another loose spark, and he’d burn mile after mile after mile. And Lance was water, yes, but was he enough? Keith was certain Lance would take the shape of whatever held him. Was that too much pressure? It was one vast, unknown expanse.

            An ocean.

            Keith wished he could see beyond the horizon.

            The night wore on, and he watched Lance. The party grew, and he wondered what would happen if they had a moment alone.

            It came when the party broke up at Shiro’s behest. They needed their rest for the drive tomorrow, he said. The staff cleared off. A few stayed to help clean up. Keith found himself disassembling the awning with Lance, everyone else inside doing dishes.

            They worked quickly and quietly. They’d set up and taken down plenty of rides together by then, and the awning was nothing in comparison. The confidence looked good on Lance—not the false bravado he sometimes exhibited, but a silent assurance that he knew what he was doing. It was silly, given the circumstances, but Keith didn’t care.

            “Thanks,” he said once they were finished.

            “Sure,” Lance replied with a nod.

            “No, I mean…for everything.” Glancing at his feet, Keith swallowed. “You’re…a really great friend.”

            Shit, did he just say friend?

            With a start, he looked up at Lance, but however the statement had affected him, that effect was now gone. Instead, Lance had on a mask of a smile.

            “Thanks,” he said.

            “No, no, no… _shit_ , god. No. Damn it. That’s not what I—”

            The words died. Keith’s face flushed. Close. Too close. Dangerously close. He had to play his cards right. He had to—

            _Christ_ , he knew _nothing_ about playing cards.

            “I just—I, I think you’re a…cool. Yeah, okay, thanks, goodnight!”

            He didn’t give Lance the opportunity to respond, bolting inside, going straight for his room, hurling himself onto his bed, and burying his face in his pillow. His face was absolutely burning, and he groaned into the pillow. Why did he have to be such a dumbass?

            Shiro knocked softly on his door a little while later.

            “You awake?” he whispered.

            Keith didn’t respond.

 

At three AM, he woke from a dream he wouldn’t remember to a text from Pidge that said:

                        _Robin Hood strikes again!_

            New message dots, then:

                        _Delete that_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are gettin' a bonus Keith chapter next time because I GOT SOME CONTENT TO COVER.


	10. I Wanna Tell You

The sun was still fifteen minutes away from rising when Keith woke on Monday. In an early morning daze, he dressed and ate, made sure his stuff was secure, then went to retrieve the truck for his and Shiro’s trailer. Shiro appeared on the front step as Keith was backing the car up to the hitch. He waved, as Keith saw in the side mirror.

            “Good morning,” Shiro said when Keith got out of the cab.

            “Morning,” Keith replied. He trotted to the hitch and made slow work of attaching it. Shiro stood and watched him, sipping coffee.

            “You have an okay night last night?” he asked.

            Keith nodded.

            Shiro sipped.

            Silence.

            “Keith—”

            In a flash, Keith secured the trailer hitch and took off toward the parking lot. “Got a lot more trucks to bring around,” he said, barely loud enough for Shiro to hear. His brother did not reply, but Keith did notice him purse his lips in the signature Shiro frown when Keith threw a glance over his shoulder. He didn’t turn around.

            Working quickly and quietly, Keith brought each trailer its vehicle. The occupants of some were awake and greeted him with sleepy good mornings and waves. He woke the occupants of others, unintentionally, but for the best. The carnival would need to get a move on.

            He left trailer six for last—because the hitch was bad, he told himself. _Those_ occupants were awake. Lance and Pidge were shrieking at each other, and the most amazing smell was coming through the kitchen window. He tried to be quiet while he secured the hitch, hell if he knew why. On some level it was easier to avoid Lance than to deal with the way he made Keith feel. His spine stiffened as a realization shot through him. That was why Lance had dodged him before.   

            God, Keith was a moron.

            He was nearly finished with the hitch when trailer six’s door opened and Hunk leaned out. The breakfast smell grew stronger, Pidge and Lance louder and more intelligible.

            “I thought I heard something out here,” Hunk smiled.

            “You can’t just _do_ shit like that, Pidge!”

            “Nobody’s gonna know it was me!”

            Unperturbed as always, Hunk let his smile widen. “You want some breakfast?”

            Keith started to shake his head and say no thanks, but the conversation within the trailer shifted as Lance addressed Hunk with, “Don’t open the door! Who are you talking to?” and Hunk turned to reply, leaving enough room for Lance to poke his head out.

            “It’s just Keith,” Hunk said.

            Just Keith indeed.

            “Did he delete those texts I sent him?” Pidge called, out of sight.

            Just Keith did not respond. Just Keith had locked eyes with Lance, and neither of them seemed capable of looking away. He screamed mentally— _blink, blink, break the contact, Christ, answer Hunk, look at Hunk, talk to Pidge, blink._ But he was too stupid with the other boy’s beauty to do anything other than stare, trying to store, trying to _memorize_ that face. If this happened every time…

            Lance disappeared from the trailer door with a squawk as he was yanked back. Pidge replaced him, tromping down the stairs and right up to Keith.

            “Did you. Delete. Those texts?” she asked, fake smile plastered all over her mouth.

            Starting, Keith got his phone out and showed her the message feed between them, blank once more. Pidge nodded in approval and patted his arm.

            “Such a smart boy,” she said, smug as she returned to the trailer.

            Lance had reemerged and blocked the door. “What? What does Keith know?”

            “Too much,” Pidge replied. She squeezed herself between Lance and Hunk.

            Drawing in a breath, Hunk opened his mouth, prepared to explain, if his expression was anything to go by, but Pidge popped up behind him, one menacing finger pointed into the air.

            “Don’t even _think_ about it,” she said through her teeth.

            Hunk let out a defeated sigh and disappeared into the trailer, shaking his head. Keith glanced at Lance, eyebrows raised, but when Lance opened _his_ mouth to explain, Pidge grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him inside. She flashed a sharp smile at Keith.

            “See you in thirty,” she chimed.

            The door closed. Keith let his breath out. Mind whirling, he returned all the truck keys to the office, keeping only the one for trailer six. Allura and Coran were putting the finishing touches on securing the filing cabinets, but the carnival was otherwise ready to go. Allura gave Keith a particular smile as he left. One that said fresh air further south would be welcome for both of them. Keith returned the smile, adding a nod.

            He made one final stop by his and Shiro’s trailer to choose some CDs for the drive. It was a pointless effort. He knew either Pidge or Lance would heckle whatever he put in and they’d likely end up listening to the radio, but he needed to keep himself busy. Keep his mind off Lance. Keep—

            “Hey.”

            Jolting, Keith turned to find Shiro in the doorway. Somber, his brother regarded him.

            “When were you going to tell me about what happened with Acxa?”

            The blood drained from Keith’s face. Shiro saw the reaction, and his own expression turned sympathetic, perhaps a little regretful. He came into the room and sat on the edge of Keith’s bed. Keith refocused his gaze on the plastic container of CDs.

            “I’m not angry,” Shiro said.

            Keith snorted. “You should be.”

            He glanced at his brother, and Shiro was wearing his “explain” face. Keith looked down again.

            “It was a shit show,” Keith replied. “Both times—”

            “Both?”

            Keith’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t have to look at Shiro to know he was disappointed, well, maybe not _disappointed_ , but hurt. Definitely hurt at having been left out of the loop. Again. Keith didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything he _could_ say. Not really. His shoulders slumped as he sighed.

            “There was the time with the Ferris wheel on Tuesday. And the zoo the week before.”

            “The _zoo?_ ”

            “Yeah…um…let’s just say Lance didn’t exactly fall into the goat enclosure.”

            Shiro’s brows pulled tight together. “Did you get into a _fight?_ ”

            “I wouldn’t classify something that one-sided a fight,” Keith replied. He grabbed a handful of random CDs and shoved the rest under the bed. Didn’t get up from the floor, however. “Zethrid and Ezor and Acxa were all there. They tried to provoke me. It worked, but they pissed Lance off, too. He hit Zethrid once and then she kicked his ass.”

            Keith flicked a glance through his hair to check Shiro’s reaction. Unreadable.

            “I’m sorry,” Keith whispered.

            “And the Ferris wheel?”

            Shaking his head, Keith chewed his bottom lip. “Zethrid spit on me. That was as bad as it got.” Was it though? He didn’t know anymore.

            When he glanced at Shiro this time, his brother had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. A weary breath huffed from his mouth, and he opened his eyes to look at Keith. His expression was unbearably pathetic.

            “Do you feel like you can’t talk to me?” he asked.

            Keith shook his head no.

            “Then what?”

            Keith shrugged.

            Reasonably exasperated, Shiro leaned back with a sigh. He was tall enough that his shoulders met the wall on the other side of Keith’s bed without him having to slump. Keith couldn’t look at him. His grip flexed tight around the stack of CDs in his hands, bending the plastic cases a little. He drew in a shaky breath and let it out without much more stability. Swallowed.

            “You worry about me enough as it is,” he whispered.

            He felt Shiro’s gaze move to him.

            “You always look out for me. You always make sure I’m all right. You take such good care of me, and I don’t want to make you worry anymore.”

            Truth be told, he was scared of bleeding Shiro dry, too. More words spilled out.

            “Ever since I got placed with your family, I’ve just—I don’t know—made everything hard for you. You always have to clean up my shit, and you shouldn’t have to do that. I should just _stop_ —but—I can’t? No matter how hard I try, I always fail, Shiro. And I—I failed with Acxa and them, and it happened _twice_ , and, like, that shouldn’t have to be _your_ problem anymore. I’m just problem after problem after problem, and—” His breath hitched. He gritted his jaw, pissed at himself for being such a bawl baby about this garbage, but he’d never learned to wear his emotions anywhere aside from his sleeve.

            “Keith.”

            From the tone, Keith knew Shiro wouldn’t continue until he looked at him. He did so reluctantly. Shiro raised his eyebrows to make sure Keith was listening.

            “You’re my _brother_ ,” he said. “And you’re my brother by _choice_. If I didn’t care—if I didn’t _want_ to help—I wouldn’t be here right now. Neither would you. You’re not a burden to me. Please don’t think that.”

            Tears pricked Keith’s eyes, but _god_ he was so done crying about this.

            “Okay?” Shiro asked.

            Keith nodded.

            Letting his breath out, Shiro sat up. He put a hand on Keith’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Keith couldn’t help being comforted by the touch. A little of the fight went out of him and he slumped over, letting his face fall forward to squish into edge of the bed. Shiro patted his back.

            “This isn’t just Acxa, is it.”

            That was a statement. Not a question. And by then, Keith wanted to have out with it.

            “I like Lance,” he said into the mattress.

            The jolt of Shiro’s surprise reverberated through the bed. Keith turned his face toward him, but didn’t raise his head.

            “I don’t want to like Lance.”

            A smile twitched at the corner of Shiro’s mouth. “Why not?”

            Pathetic, Keith shrugged.

            “Do you think he won’t feel the same way?”

            Keith shook his head. “No. I know he does. Pidge told me. But…” Sitting up, Keith released a swelling sigh. “I’ve never had a crush like this before, Shiro. It’s kind of bugging me out.”

            Shiro laughed, and it sounded sympathetic. “It’s okay to be scared, Keith.”

            “I don’t want to hurt him.”

            “You won’t.”

            “Yes I will. I hurt _everyone_.”

            Shiro’s expression shifted. He looked sorry. He looked like he wanted to understand. He looked like he knew he couldn’t, and never would. He wasn’t Keith. It would have been impossible for him to have been _less_ like Keith. They had had fundamentally different experiences, the two of them. Were fundamentally different people. And while Shiro might not have understood, he _wanted_ to understand. That was enough.

            “I think you should give it a chance,” he said.

            Keith just looked at him.

            “You’ll wonder ‘what if’ the rest of your life if you don’t.”

            “Do you have to be right all the time?” Keith huffed.

            That earned a laugh from Shiro, which prompted a smile from Keith in turn. Shiro clapped him on the shoulder as he stood. Keith rose as well, and Shiro tilted his head down to make a serious face.

            “If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. But don’t feel like you have to keep things from me. All right?”

            Keith nodded.

            “Good.”

            Shiro opened his arms for a hug, and Keith fell into the embrace, nestling his head against Shiro’s shoulder.

            “I love you,” Shiro said.

            Keith hugged him tighter. “I love you, too.”

            Scarcely had Shiro pulled back than there was a frantic knocking on the trailer door. Surprised, the pair of them looked at each other, eyebrows raised as if to ask if one of them knew what was going on. Neither did, but they soon had their answer as Allura shouted from outside.

            “Keith! Shiro! Get to your vehicles! We need to go, and we need to go _now_.”

            “Allura?” Shiro called, moving toward the door.

            She continued to shout. “Someone—how do I explain this?— _planted_ hot dogs around the entire perimeter of Zarkon’s carnival.”

            Shiro pulled open the door to show Allura the look of shock and confusion on his face. Keith was equally shocked, but notably less confused. He kept his mouth shut.

            “Planted?” Shiro asked.

            “That’s not quite the word I’m looking for. Inserted? Into the ground? They’re halfway in, but—” Allura started to laugh. She started to laugh, and it did not look like she would be able to stop if she let it get out of hand. “They’re raw. There are raw hot dogs surrounding their entire fairgrounds.” That did it. Snorting, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Lotor called. They’re blaming us, and we need to leave. As quickly as possible.”

            “How do you insert a raw hot dog into the ground?” Shiro asked, utterly baffled.

            Allura shook her head, her shoulders trembling with her laughter.

            “I wish I knew.”

 

“How _do_ you insert a raw hot dog into the ground?” Keith asked, looking at Pidge in the rearview.

            They’d been on the road for half an hour, headed south, and the smug energy she exuded from the backseat was palpable. Given the hurried exit, the whole staff had had to be informed and had therefore been buzzing about the hot dog incident. At least in the bustle Keith had largely been able to ignore his sudden and necessary proximity to Lance. Pidge simply titled her head at him, eyes wide and innocent behind her glasses.

            “Why, Keith, whatever gives you the impression I would know such a thing?”

            “You freeze them,” Lance said.

            Pidge shrieked, “ _Lance!_ ” and unbuckled her seatbelt to swat him over the headrest. He ducked, threw up his hands to block her with a shriek of his own. Pidge dropped back into her seat with a huff.

            “Look,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and looking unreasonably dignified, “nobody spits on _my_ friends and gets away with it.”

            Keith’s heart swelled. He probably looked like a real dumbass, beaming at Pidge in the rearview, but he couldn’t help himself. Friends. Honest-to-god friends. Hearing her say that, knowing the prank she’d pulled had been—at least in part—for him, made him disgustingly happy. She met his gaze in the mirror, smiled for a moment, but the expression turned foreboding in an instant.

            “If you tell anyone it was me, I will literally skin you alive.”

            Keith smiled anyway. “Thanks, Pidge.”

            She grinned. “You’re welcome.” Then, as she re-buckled her seatbelt, “What shitty-listening do you have selected for us today, Youthanasia?”

            Keith passed her the stack of CDs he’d placed in the cup holder. Pidge sat up to grab them like a raccoon taking a treat. She flipped through the cases, digesting each one and giggling to herself at each morsel.

            “You’re such an old man,” she said. “Who even _has_ CDs? What _is_ this?”

            She leaned forward onto the console, holding out a particular title. Keith took his eyes from the road long just enough to check the cover. He chuckled, recognizing the album art of a woman in a bikini floating in a stretch of clear, blue ocean.

            “ _Memories in Beach House,_ ” he said. “Seaside Lovers. They’re a Japanese city pop group from the 80s.”

            Pidge clutched the CD to her chest and groaned in revolted delight. “Thank you, dear Lord, for blessing Keith with the worst possible taste in music. Amen.”

            “You have the Shirogones to thank for that one,” Keith laughed.

            Pidge cleared her throat, and turned her eyes to the roof of the car, still holding the CD case to her heart. “Thank you, Shirogones, whoever you are, for exacerbating Keith’s already terrible taste in music. Amen.” She hurled the CD at Lance. “ _Play it!_ ”

            Ten minutes later, the smooth disco had put both Pidge and Hunk to sleep.

            Lance cleared his throat. A pang of nerves shot down Keith’s spine.

            “Shirogones as in…Shiro?” Lance asked.

            Keith nodded. “His parents,” he said. “That’s their surname.”

            “His name is Shiro Shirogone?”

            “Takashi Shirogone,” Keith replied.

            Lance stared at the dashboard, eyes wide. He was quiet for a moment before saying, “I feel like my brain just exploded.”

            Keith laughed. “Everybody calls him Shiro. Even his dad sometimes.”

            “Are you pretty close with his family, then?”

            “They adopted me when I was twelve,” Keith replied.

            A tiny jolt went through Lance. He turned to Keith, eyes wider than they had been before. There was a searching look to his expression, like he was trying to determine whether he’d pushed too hard, whether he should drop the topic or keep talking. Keith was grateful for the distraction of driving. He had to keep his eyes on the road. Not on Lance. He smiled, however, to let the other boy know it was all right.

            “My mom died when I was a baby, and my dad when I was nine. I bounced around in foster care for a while until I got placed with the Shirogones,” he said, deciding to change lanes to give his brain something else to focus on.

            “Oh my god. Keith. I’m so sorry.”

            “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

            “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”

            Keith looked at him. “That doesn’t mean you have to apologize.”

            Swallowing, Lance sat back, adjusting his seatbelt and turning his gaze out the side window. He was quiet. Thinking.

            “I’ve never lost anybody close,” he said, voice soft. “That must have been hard.”

            Throat tight, Keith nodded. “Yeah.”

            “Jeeze.”

            Keith wanted to say that it was all right, that things had turned out okay in the end, but he was still waiting for the results to come in. The Shirogones had been a godsend, that much was certain. Keith would probably have wound up a prison statistic if not for them. So, things could have been worse. But they could have been better. He was still too close to the event to have a clear picture of the aftermath. Regardless, Keith decided to change the subject.

            “What about your family, though?” he asked. “You said you were from Cuba?”

            The question perked Lance up like a watered plant. “Yeah. I was born there, but we moved to LA when I was six, so I don’t remember it super well. I barely even remember LA.” He laughed. “My siblings do, though.”

            “How many do you have?”

            “Siblings? Four. Two brothers and two sisters. My brother Luis is married, though, so three sisters, kinda? They have kids. A boy and a girl. And my grandma and grandpa live with us. We moved so my mom could take care of them. It’s a busy house.” His face was absolutely luminous while he talked about his family. It made Keith’s heart ache.

            “Sounds like fun, though,” he said.

            Lance nodded. “I like it.” Then, “I miss them.” His face turned somber, but he laughed at himself. “Boo-hoo, poor me. Getting paid to travel.”

            “Do you like to travel?”

            “This is my first time, really,” Lance replied. “I’ve never been anywhere.”

            Keith smiled. “Then we’ll have to do San Francisco up right.”

            Straightening, Lance turned to look at him, a slow smile spreading across his mouth. His cheeks turned a little pink, and he nodded. God, if Keith hadn’t had a crush on him before, that would have done it.

            “Okay,” Lance said, and had Hunk and Pidge not been in the backseat, Keith would have confessed to him right then and there.

 

An hour passed before they reached their drive-thru tree destination. Pidge and Hunk slept straight through. Lance and Keith settled into a companionable silence—Lance absorbed the scenery of the passing forest, Keith absorbed in Lance’s absorption.

            They pulled into the parking lot for Underwood Park and Keith hopped out to detach the trailer. After all his research, he’d chosen the Chandelier Tree because it was the biggest and would hopefully fit the truck. As Keith climbed back into the cab, Lance was carefully rousing Pidge and Hunk.

            “Wake up, children,” he said, poking Pidge with the end of a tape measure he must have found in the glovebox. “We’re at the tree.”

            Pidge sat bolt upright. “ _Tree?_ ” She swiveled her head around, then rolled down the window and stuck it out when she couldn’t see what she was after. A gasp punched out of her throat. “ _Look at it!_ ”

            The Chandelier Tree _was_ impressive. Two hundred and seventy-six feet tall, its enormous trunk bare until one hundred feet up where it split into three and branched out like a candelabra. Another car was currently eking its way through the tunnel carved out of the tree’s base. Keith rolled down his own window and tucked in the truck’s side mirror

            “Want me to get this one?” Lance asked, pointing out his window.

            “Yeah,” Keith nodded with a smile.

            “Hunk, _wake up_ , we’re at the drive-thru tree,” Pidge said, shaking him.

            “Hmm-wha?” Hunk blinked awake. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, ducking to look out the window as Keith started the car. “Oh, _wow_.”

            All three of them bobbed their heads, weaving to get the best possible view out their respective windows. It made Keith chuckle. He pulled the truck up in line for the tree, waiting for the car ahead of them to finish going through.

            “ _Ah,_ I’m so excited,” Pidge squealed. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

            The other car finished its pass, and Pidge squealed again when Keith put the truck in gear and inched forward. He approached the tunnel carefully, backed up somewhat to align the truck. Started forward, nice and slow.

            “Are we gonna fit?” Hunk asked.

            “We’re gonna find out,” Keith replied.

            They reached the entrance, and the truck barely had clearance on either side or above. Pidge held her breath. Keith kept going. The brakes squealed at the vehicle’s slow crawl, and he made sure to keep the wheels straight. Pidge started a drum roll, patting her hands on her legs. Hunk joined in. Lance reached a hand out his open window to brush his fingers along the inside of the tree.

            The truck popped out the other side. Pidge and Hunk threw their hands in the air and cheered. Lance looked at Keith, his mouth split in an enormous grin. Keith grinned back, then suddenly Pidge’s face was between them.

            “You _know_ you gotta take me to the gift shop,” she said.

 

Because of the tree detour, theirs would be the last car to arrive at the San Francisco fairgrounds, which would be slightly suspect, but in the bustle, it was unlikely anyone would question them. When they did pull into the lot—in Pleasanton, Alameda County—Lance narrowed his eyes at their surroundings, then at Keith.

            “And _how_ far away is the city from here?”

            Keith shrugged. “Like an hour?”

            “San Francisco fairgrounds my ass,” Lance grumbled, getting out of the car.

            Pidge laughed. “What? Did you think we were gonna be in Golden Gate Park?” She followed his lead, hopping out and stretching.

            “I didn’t think we were gonna be an _hour_ away,” Lance replied.

            “Where else would we be? There’s not _space_ for a carnival. It’s San Francisco.”

            “How was I supposed to know that? I’ve never been!”

            Shaking her head, Pidge moved away. “Your capacity for misinformation never ceases to amaze me.”

            It was still early in the afternoon, so the staff got busy assembling everything. They worked at warp speed, desperate to open the following morning and make all the trouble worth it. Keith was relishing his Tuesdays off this season. The way their departure and arrival dates had panned out, he’d been able to miss most of the mess.

            Though he’d found plenty of other shit to get into, he supposed.

            Eleven PM had rolled around by the time they called it quits. With one final push in the morning, the Carnival of Lions would be ready to open.

            “Great job, everybody,” Shiro called as the lot of them filed from the fairgrounds to go to their trailers to sleep. He gave a particular smile to Keith as he passed. “Pretty slick work on the Ferris wheel, there, buddy.”

            Keith chuckled. “Thanks.” They’d managed to get the damn thing operational in record time—but they did have a decent crew.

            “Hey, will you do me a favor and brew some coffee when you get back?” Shiro asked. “Late night. I need to rewrite the schedule to match the move.”

            “Sure.”

            “Thanks.”

            Shiro clapped him on the shoulder, and Keith returned to their trailer. Things tended to shift in the cabinets after a drive, so he was careful unloading the coffee maker and bag of grounds. The coffee had just begun to siphon into the pot when Keith’s back pocket buzzed and he fished his phone out to find a text from Pidge.

                        _Hot tip_

_There’s a ~Raging Waters~ in San Jose_

Keith snorted.

                                                                        _wtf am I supposed to do with that information_

_HOT_

_TIP_

_SOMEONE_

_LOVES_

_WATER PARKS_

_Also, I would like to go pls_

Something told him that being further indebted to Pidge was not a position he wanted to find himself in, but this tidbit had named its price.

_you’ll have to talk to coran_

_I’ve already borrowed cars like eight times_

                        _But you’ll drive if he says yes?_

Yes. Of course. Absolutely. Without a doubt. He was already nervous about it.

                                                                        _sure_

She sent back a kissy emoji.

 

Foolishly, Keith neglected to ask _when_ Pidge wanted to go. The carnival was scheduled to remain in the Bay Area for three weeks, so he’d figured they would have plenty of time to make plans to drive down to San Jose, but Pidge showed up on his stoop the next morning and pounded on the door, shouting, “Put on your swimsuit, chauffeur! We’ve got a wave pool to conquer!”

            Keith startled out of bed and hurried open the door before she could knock again—which she would. God only knew how late Shiro had been up, and he didn’t need Pidge’s hollering to wake him this early.

            “Christ, Pidge, it’s seven AM,” Keith said, squinting in the sunlight.

            She was already dressed in a swimsuit and a pair of shorts, the ugliest hat Keith had ever seen on her head. The smell of sunscreen that radiated off her was strong.

            “Yeah,” she said, “and we gotta get to Raging Waters.”

            “ _Today?_ ”

            “When else?”

            “I don’t know—tomorrow? Next week? The week after?”

            He gave Pidge an exasperated expression, which she elected to ignore.

            “The park opens at ten. We need to get there by nine thirty so we can get in line and guarantee ourselves a spot with shade because _pale_.” She motioned between the two of them in some sort of expression of solidarity. “It takes half an hour to drive, but we should budget an extra fifteen minutes for traffic, which means we need to leave at eight forty-five, and I didn’t know how long you would need to get ready.”

            Keith gave her a flat stare. “And your guess was an hour and forty-five minutes?”

            She shrugged. “How was I supposed to know how much of your youthful glow is natural?” Her eyes flicked to his hair, and she grinned.

            Scowling, Keith unconsciously ran his fingers through it in an attempt to tame whatever horror was up there. Little good the effort did him. Pidge laughed at the result. He shut the door in her face.

            “Parking lot! Eight forty-five!” she hollered.

            “All _right!_ ” Keith hollered back, then remembered Shiro and cursed.

            His brother, however, did not stir. Keith tried to go back to bed himself, get a little more sleep before braving a day of sunshine, tube slides, and Pidge and Hunk and Lance. But he was as unsuccessful with that as he had been fixing his hair. He was going to a waterpark with Lance. He was going to a _waterpark_ with _Lance_.

            Unfortunately, the distraction of dressing and packing a backpack and eating breakfast could only last so long—and wasn’t especially distracting. His mind kept drifting forward into the day, to Lance in a swimsuit, to Lance in the water, to Lance with the sun on his skin, in his hair, in his eyes, everywhere. Christ, Keith was going to drive himself crazy if he didn’t do something about this soon.

            “You going somewhere today?” Shiro asked, yawning as he emerged from his room.

            Keith jumped and dropped his spoon. Shiro offered a sleepy, supportive smile. He grabbed a mug, slid into the kitchen booth, and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table.

            “Raging Waters,” Keith replied, his mouth full of cereal.

            “In San Jose?”

            Keith nodded.

            “That’ll be fun.”

            Turning pink, Keith nodded again. “Pidge’s idea. Lance and Hunk are going, too.”

            Shiro perked up. “Oh.” He sipped his coffee like he was silencing the one hundred and one dad-phrases that had come to mind for him to say. Things like “I’m so glad you’ve found some friends this season,” and “It’s a good thing you’re getting out more,” and “Spending time with people your own age? Fantastic!”

            “Bring me back a t-shirt,” was what he finally said aloud.

            Keith’s eyebrows pulled together. “Seriously?”

            Shiro shrugged. “Sure.”

            Keith laughed. “And they call _me_ ‘old man.’”

 

At eight forty-five, the terrible trio arrived at the parking lot—though “terrible” as a moniker wasn’t fair to Hunk. It was Pidge and Lance who were terrible. Keith had made sure to get there early to avoid a lecture for being even a minute late from either of them.

            “Morning, Keith!” Hunk called, raising a friendly hand.

            “Morning,” Keith replied with a quiet smile. As much as he felt like an idiot for admitting it, he was glad he’d found some friends this season, too.

            Maybe something more than friends.

            He looked at Lance, and he couldn’t help the change in his smile. That dumb boy made his heart sore, the good kind, like muscles after a workout. He looked at Lance, and he wished he could look at Lance forever. At no one but Lance for forever. The blue expanse. The white embrace. The delicate string that connected the two of them—the boy on the ground and the kite in the sky. Pidge snapped her fingers in his face.

            “Tick-tock goes the fifteen-minute traffic buffer,” she chimed.

            So they got on the road and Keith had to enjoy Lance out of his peripheral vision instead.

            When they pulled up at Raging Waters, Pidge made him drop her off in front of the ticket windows because a line had already formed. Hunk went with her, citing that someone had to make sure she didn’t stab anybody. Which left Keith and Lance to park and carry the cooler. Keith turned the car off. Both stared out the front window.

            “Listen, Lance—”

            “Pidge is gonna yell at us if we don’t hurry,” Lance said, kicking open his door and dashing to the back. “Pop the trunk.”

            Letting his breath out, Keith did just that.

            The ticket windows had yet to open when Keith and Lance joined Hunk and Pidge in line. Though there were only five or six people ahead of them, as soon as the park was open, the line did not move fast enough for Pidge. She took off like a flash of lightning the instant she was on the other side of the gate.

            “Bye, I guess!” Lance yelled at her.

            “Some of us burn in the sun, boy-o!” she yelled back.

            “She’s really that desperate for shade?” Keith asked.

            “Leave a Holt in the sun for too long and they’ll turn into a lobster,” Lance replied. “Pidge’s brother Matt forgot to bring sunblock to the beach one time, and we convinced him to get in the water anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever seen skin that color before and I never will again.”

            “Candy apple red,” Hunk said with a nod.

            Keith grimaced. “Jesus.”

            They found Pidge in front of the kids’ activity pool under a first-come-first-serve umbrella, spreading her stuff out on a bunch of chairs like the rest of them weren’t right behind her. Lance gestured at the kiddie pool.

            “You do realize this is the _worst_ possible spot, right?”

            “Never sniff at shade,” she replied. “Besides, we’re gonna run around most of the day. We won’t even sit here that much.”

            “Right, so why’d you have such a stick up your butt about it?” Keith asked.

            Both Lance and Hunk harmonized a low-toned “ooooh” as a shadow fell across Pidge’s face. Keith had never been so certain someone was going to kill him.

            “Come again, Kogane?” Pidge growled.

            Operating purely on instinct, Keith bolted. The right decision. Pidge let out a screech as she took off after him. If Keith hadn’t had a head start, she would have tackled him to the ground. As it was, he managed to outpace her, and she chased him around the entire length of the lazy river to the wave pool. His saving grace came in the form of a few empty cabanas alongside it, which Pidge noticed and pounced on.

            “Go get my shit and I’ll forgive your impertinence,” she called and planked across three of the lounge chairs to reserve them.

            Out of breath, Keith simply nodded.

            He returned to the cabanas in front of the kid’s pool where a bemused Hunk and Lance waited, holding onto their stuff and hovering like they were unsure whether they should sit down or not. Lance had taken off his shirt, however. Keith still hadn’t caught his breath after the sprint for his life, and the sight of Lance didn’t help, so all he could do was wave at them until he was close enough to talk.

            “Pidge found…some other seats…by the wave pool,” he said, then coughed.

            “You okay, man?” Hunk asked. “She didn’t, like, try to drown you or anything, right?”

            Keith shook his head. “The new spot saved me.”

            “I can’t believe you lived,” Lance replied.  

            Laughing, Keith smiled. “Me either.”

            Lance smiled as well, and the two of them beamed at each other like dopes until Hunk called them out of it with an oblivious, “Let’s head over there, then. Lead the way, Keith.”

            They repacked Pidge’s stuff, and Keith took charge of carrying all of it, certain she would see assistance from either Lance or Hunk as a loophole into strangling him. She hadn’t moved an inch—still board-stiff across the lounge chairs when they arrived. The park wasn’t particularly busy yet, seeing as it had only just opened, but the bulk of the attendees who _were_ there were in the wave pool. Waiting for the waves to start, it looked like. The four of them were probably lucky to have found a spot so close.

            “What do you chumps wanna do first?” Pidge asked, sitting up and accepting her things from Keith, who held them out to her like he was offering a bone to a rabid dog.

            “Well, we have to do it all, _obviously_ ,” Lance replied. “What are our options?”

            Pidge produced a map from her bag and unfolded it so all of them could see. The cartoony illustration of the park was almost hard to look at, and definitely not to scale. They leaned in to look.

            “I’d vote for the wave pool,” Pidge said, tapping the illustration on the map. “The park’s only going to get more crowded as the day goes on, and I’d rather wait in line for slides than float in a crowded pool.”

            “The crowd’s part of the fun, though, right?” Lance replied with a grin. “Like bumper cars.”

            “With an added risk of drowning.”

            Lance laughed. “I’ll keep you safe, Pidge.”

            “I second the motion for the wave pool,” Hunk put in. “That way we can enjoy it in both its forms—crowded and not.”

            Lance nodded, but his eyes were still roaming over the map, alight, an almost imperceptible smile on his mouth. It was an expression of genuine excitement, anticipation. He really did love waterparks. Goddamn adorable.

            “Keith?”

            He jolted to attention and looked at Pidge. By the expression on her face, he had to assume it was not the first time she’d said his name.

            “Any input?” she continued.

            He shook his head. “None of it’s really my thing, so I’ll do whatever you guys want.”

            “Not your _thing?_ ” Lance said, mockingly appalled. “ _Not your_ _thing?_ ” He scoffed. “Buckle your seatbelt, then, old man, because we’re gonna make a waterpark convert out of you.” He threw a pointed finger into the air. “Hunk! To the tubes!”

            Hunk gave him a salute, and together they marched off. Keith stood blinking, then glanced down at Pidge. She gave him a smug expression.

            “Told you so,” she said.

            Letting his breath out, Keith sat on the lounge chair opposite her. He laced his fingers together and gripped tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Pidge’s face softened when she saw how nervous he was. She reached a hand over and patted his knee in a ridiculous sympathetic act that mostly made him feel more childish.

            “Relax, my dude,” she said.

            “I can’t, Pidge.”

            She leaned back onto her elbows. “Look, I know I stuck my nose in to, like, move things along, but you don’t _have_ to tell him anything.”

            Keith bit the inside of his bottom lip.

            “I only told you because I know for a fact Lance is too—I don’t know…clueless, worried?—to do it himself. What you do with the information is totally your choice. I didn’t mean to…wig you out.”

            He shook his head. “I’m glad you told me.”

            A small smile crossed her mouth.

            “It makes telling _him_ less risky, knowing how he feels, but…it’ll still change things.” Humorless, he laughed. “Fear of the unknown.”

            She nodded. “Definitely.”

            “I do _want_ to tell him, though,” he said.

            Sitting up, she leaned forward and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Forgive the terrible pun, but take the plunge.”

            Keith laughed. Pidge chuckled.

            “I don’t think you’ll regret it,” she said.

            He nodded, looking at her and offering a grateful smile. Pidge’s ability to go from “I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident” to “amazingly supportive friend who has your back” in a matter of minutes was mind-boggling.

            Something over his shoulder drew her attention, and Keith looked to find Hunk and Lance returning with a pair of double tubes. Pidge kicked off her flipflops and wiggled out of her shorts in a flash, but kept the hat on her head as she stood up and pointed to the wave pool with a loud proclamation of, “Onward!” Hunk tossed his shirt onto the chairs and followed Pidge. Lance lingered, glancing at Keith, who desperately needed a confidence boost.

            Crossing his arms, he gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it off over his head in one slow, smooth, deliberate motion. Once he was free, he looked at Lance, and Lance was staring, blushing—and blushing harder when Keith caught him.

            That did the trick.

            A grin curled across Keith’s lips. He gave Lance a playful nudge as he walked past him to head toward the wave pool.

            “Come on, then,” he said. “Convert me.”

            Lance went red to the tips of his ears. Keith increased his pace, biting back a smile as he left Lance behind. It took the other boy a moment to fall into step, which only served to boost Keith further. They waded into the wave pool together, not really trying to catch up to Hunk and Pidge who were already halfway out, Pidge lounging in her half of the tube while Hunk pushed it from behind.

            “You really don’t like waterparks?” Lance asked.

            “I’m more of a roller coaster guy,” Keith replied.

            “Duh. I knew that.”

            Keith laughed, then shrugged. “It’s stupid, but the lack of restraints on waterslides freaks me out.”

            “Really?”

            They were deep enough now Lance could set their tube down and pull it through the water alongside him. He glanced at Keith, brows pulled together in concern.

            “What’s with the puppy dog face?” Keith laughed.

            Lance wiped the expression away in an instant. “Nothing,” he replied, bringing the tube around to the front and focusing on it instead. “I just want you to have a good time.”

            It was Keith’s turn to stop in his tracks while Lance kept moving. He blinked himself back to his senses and waded swiftly to Lance’s side. A siren at the end of the pool blared, accompanied by the sound of a lot of moving water. The first wave that reached them was small, but those that followed quickly grew in size.

            “Get in,” Lance said when Keith reached him.

            “What?”

            “Get in the tube. And grab one of the handles on Pidge’s when we get there.”

            The next wave nearly knocked Keith over, so he did what he was told and dipped under the water to resurface in the middle of the front half of the tube. He had to time his jump with the waves, but lifted himself out and swung his legs over the side. As soon as he was settled, Lance started off.

            Unsurprisingly, he was an incredible swimmer. Keith knew that, of course, but he’d never seen it up close. Lance pushed the tube through the waves and straight to Pidge and Hunk with ease. Keith was almost too distracted to grab the handle on their tube when they bumped into each other.

            “Hey!” Pidge cried. She’d repositioned herself so she was sitting on the ring with her legs dangling through the middle, and she nearly tipped over backward. “No bumper cars!”

            She scowled at Keith, so Keith looked to the back of their tube because it was Lance’s fault, but Lance wasn’t there. He startled, but the other boy popped up through his half of the tube a second later.

            “Sorry, Pidge,” he said with a grin that did not look sorry at all.

            “Sure you are,” she grumbled.

            Hunk paddled his portion of their tube toward Lance’s and took hold of the handle before easing back and shutting his eyes. This deep into the wave pool, none of the swells were breaking, and the four of them simply floated up and over each one. It was actually quite calming, which was rare for an activity that involved both Pidge and Lance. Keith followed Hunk’s lead, relaxing in the tube and shutting his eyes. He didn’t close them fully, however, content to admire Lance through the veil of his own eyelashes.

            Lance’s back and shoulders glistened with sunlight and water. He had his arms slung over the ring and rested his chin on them, chatting with Pidge and propelling their tubes forward with a few powerful kicks when the waves pushed them too far back.

            It was the first time in a long time Keith felt truly at peace.

            What an odd place to find it—a wave pool at the Raging Waters in San Jose. And an odd time. He’d just come off a roller coaster of shit with Acxa, was reeling over his feelings for Lance, still a little sore over his rejection letter from USC. But he was…happy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been legitimately _happy._ Hopefully—

            It was too quiet.

            Lance and Pidge had both stopped talking, but Keith noticed too late. He barely had time to open his eyes and see that Lance had disappeared from his half of the tube before the whole thing was flipping over. Keith went with it, submerging completely. He had to right himself before kicking to the surface. Lance was already laughing when Keith popped up.

            “What the hell?” Keith cried, coughing, water in his nose.

            Pidge golf-clapped from her tube. “Excellent form.”

            He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Why?”

            Lance grinned. “That was your baptism.”

            Keith gritted his teeth, but even that couldn’t hide his smile. He stroked closer to Lance, _very_ close as a matter of fact. He let that sink in, and as soon as Lance started to panic, Keith sent a splash into his face as payback. Then he clambered back into their tube and resettled himself with a huff.

            “Welcome to the Church of Waterpark Fun Times,” Pidge said.

            Keith reached over and shoved her off her tube.

 

By the afternoon, Pidge finally forgave him. She’d lost her hat when Keith pushed her, and Lance had had to dive to the bottom of the wave pool to retrieve it. Her forgiveness only came because he helped her win a race around the lazy river against Hunk and Lance. The amount of people in the park had increased exponentially since then, so the reason they won had more to do with their ability as smaller individuals to navigate the crowd, but Keith had taken a bullet and purposefully delayed Lance so Pidge could pull ahead of Hunk. It was a bullet Keith was more than happy to take.

            The rising pressure of his desire to confess had never left his thoughts.

            The four of them waited in line to duel each other on Blue Thunder and White Lightning, and Keith wanted to tell Lance then. Hunk and Pidge went first down Shotgun Falls, and Keith wanted to tell Lance then. They rode doubles down the Great White Shark, and Keith wanted to tell Lance then. Then doubles again on Dragon’s Den, and only the drop through the middle of the funnel kept Keith from having out with it already.

            Watching Lance in a waterpark was slowly, painfully, deliciously killing him.

            He didn’t like waterparks on their own, but he sure as hell liked this one with Lance. Every time Keith reacted with trepidation to one of the slides, Lance was there with a smile and quiet words of encouragement. Keith thought he’d disguised his fear, but Lance picked up on it. Without fail. He was so nice. He was so pretty. He was so nice, and annoying, but so much fun, and so pretty, and the longer Keith waited, the more he daydreamed, the more those daydreams ate away at him.

            He wanted to be at the heart of that blue. He wanted to drown in it.

            “The last thing in order to do _everything_ is that Bombs Away slide in the back,” Pidge said. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

            Keith had been deliberately avoiding the topic of that particular attraction all day, hoping they’d forget about it, but knowing they wouldn’t. It was a drop out slide. An incredibly _tall_ drop out slide. With an inverted looping flume. Keith’s stomach turned over immediately.

            “Let’s do it,” Hunk said with a grin.

            Next thing Keith knew, he was waiting in line.

            The slide was obscenely high, and the queue wound around the stairs up to the wooden platform. With each inch forward, they moved closer to the sky. Keith couldn’t look down, couldn’t look at the black and blue tube of the slide that plunged almost straight to the ground on their right. The screams from its victims didn’t help either.

            “Hey,” Lance said, voice soft. Keith looked at him and he smiled. “It’ll be okay.”

            Keith drew in a deep breath. It was ridiculous to be nervous about a damn waterslide when he’d ridden some of the most extreme roller coasters in the country, but the thing with anxiety is that sometimes it exists outside of logic.

            “Tons of people do this every day, so it’s totally safe.”

            Keith nodded, swallowed, let the words—their speaker—soothe him.

            “I’ll go first if you want?”

            Keith looked at Lance, and the gentle smile on his face worked better than anything. Pidge and Hunk were ahead of them, but he and Lance traded places, swapping so that Keith was at the back. By the time they got to the top of the platform, and the front of the line, he was nervous all over again.

            Hunk stepped up when the lifeguard motioned for him, stepped into the enclosed capsule and put his hands behind his head as instructed.

            “Be sure to hop out as soon as you can when you reach the bottom,” she said.

            Hunk nodded. “Gotcha.”

            The lifeguard shut the capsule door. She leaned over the railing to double-check the end of the slide was clear, then pressed the button, waved at Hunk, and the hatch beneath his feet dropped open. He disappeared with a scream of laughter. The splash at the bottom was enormous. The lifeguard motioned Pidge up as Hunk climbed out and hurried over to the side to wait for them. He looked so small. Hunk was so big, but he looked so small.

            “Keith,” Lance said, laughing a little. “It’s all right.”

            Keith stared at him, his breathing heavy, his heart beating fast. Part panic. Part uncontrollable crush. Lance smiled. His eyes were blue. Blue. Blue, blue, blue. _He_ was blue. Pidge disappeared. Lance was beautiful. Beautiful blue. Pidge reappeared as a speck at the bottom. Keith was dizzy, and Lance was beautiful.

            The lifeguard motioned him forward.

            Keith started, separated from his single source of comfort. Lance stepped into the capsule, put his hands behind his head, then flashed Keith a grin as if to say, “See? All good.” The lifeguard started to close the capsule and Keith couldn’t hold it in anymore.

            “I have a crush on you,” he said.

            The door shut. Lance’s face went pale and his eyes went wide. Then the platform dropped out from underneath him.

            He didn’t scream. He didn’t make a sound the whole way down. The telltale splash in the slide at the bottom, but Lance didn’t get up. He just lay there, completely motionless. Hunk and Pidge and the lifeguard at the bottom all hurried to make sure he was all right. The lifeguard at the top laughed and leaned over to Keith, putting her hand up to him for a high five.

            “That was _awesome_ ,” she said.

            Keith laughed, breathy and nervous.

            “You ready?” the lifeguard asked.

            He nodded. After that, the slide was nothing.

            Except that Lance was waiting at the bottom.

            Keith had inadvertently created a situation. His confession had opened a door, but that door had swung shut almost immediately. They couldn’t talk about what Keith had said. Not here. Not in front of Hunk.

            Luckily, they could chalk a broken Lance up to the slide. Unluckily, Keith had to wait on a response—and wait he did, watching Lance out of the corner of his eye, watching him holding in whatever it was he was going to say, imagining what that was going to be, panicking as two minutes turned into ten, and ten to twenty, overthinking and thinking he’d made a mistake. Then Lance pulled him aside, around the back of a funnel cake stand.

            He didn’t say anything for a long, long time.

            “Were you serious?” Lance whispered, looking at the ground.

            Keith swallowed. “Yeah.”

            Lance’s eyes lifted, and they flashed, and he drew in a breath and it was startled and beautiful. He looked a little bit like he wanted to cry. Keith wanted to grab him and kiss him and tell _him_ it’s all right. Lance took his hand and squeezed it.

            “Me too,” he said, still whispering. “I…holy shit…I mean, I like you, too.”

            Keith nearly let slip that he’d already known, but Pidge’s voice calling both their names reminded him of his promise—and hers. Lance dropped his hand, but grabbed his shoulders instead.

            “Can we talk? Later? Soon? Tonight, when we get back?”

            Breathless, Keith nodded.

            “I’ll come to your trailer.”

            Keith nodded again.

            Lance smiled a smile that got interrupted by a laugh, and his eyes had never left Keith’s. He looked so indescribably happy—relieved and happy—but a second call from Pidge had him breaking away, calling, “Coming! Keep your suit on!”

            He moved off, and Keith stood motionless, surrounded head to toe by the wake of that glorious, bubbling blue.

 

Whatever they’d done for the rest of the day at Raging Waters was lost to Keith under a nebulous haze of anticipation for their return to the fairgrounds. Keith pulled into the parking lot, Hunk and Pidge and Lance piled out. The three of them disappeared to take showers and eat dinner at their trailer. Lance gave Keith a particular look. A promise—that he hadn’t forgotten about their agreement to meet later.

            His heart pinching, Keith headed to his trailer to wait.

            Shiro was there, laptop and a load of paperwork spread out on the table in front of him. He looked up as Keith came in.

            “How was it?” he asked.

            Keith just nodded, an idiotic smile on his face. Shiro sat up.

            “Oh?”

            “I told him,” Keith said, then blushed.

            “And?”

            It seemed all Keith could do lately was nod.

            Laughing, Shiro threw his hands in the air. “Touchdown!”

            Keith gave him a playful scowl, but chuckled, then swung his backpack down to dig through it and unearth the stupid Raging Waters t-shirt he’d bought Shiro. He chucked it at his face and moved toward his room.

            “He’s coming over later, so don’t be weird,” Keith said, but Shiro was already pulling the new t-shirt on over his old one.

            Keith showered and tried to relax. He put on a sweatshirt and tried to relax. He changed his mind about the sweatshirt and put on his slouchy sweater instead and tried to look cute and tried to relax. He went into the kitchen, unearthed some leftovers, and ate while watching Shiro work, but even the monotony of him writing the employee schedule was not enough to lull Keith into stillness. He washed the dishes. Cleaned. Got his own laptop out and absently tried to sort footage, all of it to no avail.

            At nine o’clock, the knock finally came.

            Keith shot to his feet and hurried to the door, then paused to collect himself. Shiro chuckled in the breakfast nook.

            “Shut up,” Keith said.

            He opened the door and Lance was on the steps—so goddamn cute in a baby blue hoodie and grey joggers, his hair still wet from a shower, his face even more tan after a day in the sun. He jumped when he saw Keith, then spilled a bunch of words that betrayed his nerves.

            “Hi, sorry, I didn’t mean to take so long, but I drew the short straw for the bathroom and I wanted to wait until Hunk and Pidge we’re headed for bed, and I didn’t mean to make you wait, I—” He cut himself off.

            Keith shook his head. “It’s all right.”

            “Are you still okay to talk?”

            He looked up at Keith with this pitiful expression, like he expected a no. As if Keith would ever tell him no.

            “Of course.”

            He came down the steps and closed the door behind him, then gestured for Lance to follow around to the back of the trailer. There was a ladder there that gave access to the roof. Nobody would be able to see or bother them. Keith climbed up first.

            The roof didn’t have much of a view. Over the fence that marked the end of the fairgrounds there was a road, and some facilities, but little else. Keith sat on the edge of the trailer and patted the place next to him. Lance balanced his way over and eased down. He left quite a bit of space between them.

            “So,” he said.

            “So,” Keith replied.

            Lance put a hand behind his head and scratched his neck with an uncomfortable laugh. “I don’t… I don’t really know what I should say.”

            “What do you _want_ to say?”

            Glancing at Keith briefly, Lance drew in a deep breath. He let it out slow. Then spoke.

            “I like you a lot. Like, _a lot_ a lot. More than I think I’ve ever liked anybody, and…that scares me? I haven’t ever had a crush on a guy in my actual life before? I don’t… I don’t really know what to do.” He glanced at Keith again. “I’m sorry, if that’s not what you were hoping to hear, I just…I want to be honest.”

            “No,” Keith said, shaking his head. “I’m glad you are.” It was probably his turn to say something. “I feel the same way. About being scared, but also about—I don’t know— _how much_ I like you. It’s…kinda ridiculous.”

            He laughed, and Lance joined in, and they leaned a little closer to each other.

            “Do you wanna, like…I don’t know. Go out?” Keith asked.

            Lance swallowed. “I think so.”

            “But?”

            “No—no but,” he said, and continued when Keith raised a skeptical eyebrow, “No but. Hunk doesn’t know. That’s all. About me being bi, I mean. I don’t want to go behind his back.”

            Keith nodded. That was the end of that.

            “So I guess I’ll have to tell him—”

            What?

            “—but could we, like—”

            Christ, _what?_

 _“—_ hold off for a sec until the timing is right? I don’t—”

            Lance was going to come out for him?

            “—want him to feel bad. Is that okay?”

            Keith just stared.

            “Keith, is that okay?”

            He could feel his eyes drying out, that’s how wide they were.

            Nervous, Lance chuckled. “Keith? Is that okay? Jeeze, your eyes are big. You look like Bambi.”

            Keith responded in an unthinking daze. “Why? Because my parents are dead?”

            “That’s not—”

            Screw it.

            Keith grabbed Lance’s collar, yanked him forward, and locked their lips together. Lance let out a muffled cry of surprise, but Keith didn’t let go. He couldn’t let go. He kissed him so hard. His grip softened and slid around the back of Lance’s neck, into his damp hair. When he finally pulled back, it was only because he needed to breathe.

            Lance stared at him.

            “For the record, Bambi’s dad’s alive,” he said.

            Keith’s mouth fell open, and he couldn’t stop himself from whacking that stupid idiot across the upper arm.

            “ _Lance._ ”

            “Ow!”

            “That is _not_ what you say after a first kiss, you moron.”

            Lance went pale as if only realizing then what his words had been and what had happened. “Oh my god… I take it back. Start over, start over. Mulligan, oh my god, mulligan!”

            “You can’t mulligan a first kiss!”

            “Mulligan!”

            “No!”

            “ _Keeeeeeeith!_ ”

            “I don’t make the rules. First is first, that’s gone now, and you ruined it.” Keith started to laugh, but it died in his mouth when Lance took his face in his hands and drew close.

            “Do-over,” he said, and his voice was heavy and low and made Keith’s stomach coil.

            Lance kissed him again. And it was different from the first time. Light and short, then followed by another, and another, longer, slower, and Keith kissed him back, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling tighter, carding his fingers in his hair and savoring that beautiful blue heat he felt sweep across his skin. He kissed Lance, and he kissed Lance, and Lance’s lips parted, and Keith slipped his tongue between them, and he was drowning. Lance broke the embrace, their lips coming apart with a smack.

            “ _Jesus_ ,” he whispered. “You’re really good at that.”

            Keith kissed him.

            “Was that better?” Lance asked.

            Keith kissed him again.

            “Uh-huh,” he replied.

            They kissed each other, then. Keith has waited so long, he could barely contain himself. So, it was Lance who pulled back again. He smiled at Keith, and the softness in his eyes, the affection as he lifted a hand and stroked Keith’s cheek, sent Keith’s heart scampering. People didn’t look at Keith that way. Keith could not remember having ever been looked at like that. Lance brushed Keith’s hair back.

            “These big Bambi eyes,” he chuckled.

            Keith thought maybe Lance meant to comment on their wide surprise, so he opened his mouth to apologize, but lost his breath at the next words Lance spoke.

            “You’re really beautiful, Keith.”

            His heart stopped. His mouth stayed open, silent. He stared at Lance, overwhelmed, overcome. Somehow he managed to stammer out a reply.

            “Th-thank you.”

            “No, no,” Lance grinned, “now’s the part when you tell me how gorgeous I am.”

            Scowling, Keith went to hit him again, but Lance caught his arm, and Keith fell forward instead, into an embrace as steady and expansive as the ocean. Lost once and for all in those eyes, he lifted himself and went in for another kiss, hovering his lips above Lance’s just long enough to hear the other boy’s breath hitch.

            “Mulligan,” Keith said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry that I had to split the chapter in two, and it took extra long to get here, but I hope it was worth the wait. ( ˘ ³˘)♥


	11. Sewing Buttons to Bambi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the fluff begin!

Kissing Keith up there on the roof of his trailer, Lance disappeared from the universe. He dissolved. His molecules broke apart and bonded with other things, then unhooked and came together again, but different. It was just—it was _different_ , and he didn’t know when he’d gotten all poetic, but _damn_. He’d kissed plenty of people—re: girls—before, but he’d never _been_ kissed like this, never kissed someone who made noises like Keith did. Little incoherent accidentals, music at the back of his throat. Lance liked it. Made him all tingly.

            Why did this feel so different? What was it? _Whatwasitwhatwasitwhatwasit?_

            Lance’s heart beat so hard and fast that it was a miracle he didn’t pass out. This was more intense than the Fireball a hundred times over. No, this— _this_ was the _Kogane_ Euthanasia Coaster, and Lance knew it was a ride he couldn’t come back from.

            He’d never felt a connection so electric.

            Keith pulled back, and Lance couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and following that mouth and kissing it a few more times, loath to break the embrace. He felt Keith grin against his lips, and that made him grin, and it was hard to kiss and grin at the same time, so that was the end of it for a second. They stayed close though, noses nearly nestled together.

            “Let’s go into the city tomorrow,” Lance said, keeping his voice soft like speaking at a normal volume would shatter something.

            Keith nipped a sharp kiss from his mouth. “Okay.”

            Lance’s heart revved and thrummed, nervous for some stupid reason, but kissed equally stupid. “What time?”

            And Keith’s lips were on his again.

            “Whenever,” Keith replied.

            “Let’s go early.”

            And again.

            “If you want,” Keith said.

            And again.

            “How about eight?” Lance replied.

            And again.

            “If you want.”

            _Jesus_.

            This was like—it was like…adding kindling to a fire. The more Lance put on, the higher the flames grew, but the faster what was there got consumed. So, he had to pile up more and more fuel, but that made the fire bigger, and bigger fires burned more coal or wood or newspaper or whatever, and that created a never-ending cycle. Basically, Keith was going to turn him into a friggin’ pyromaniac. 

            “I’ll meet you here, then?” Lance asked.

            “What about Pidge and Hunk?”

            Something selfish flared in Lance’s chest. Right then—in that very second—he didn’t care about Hunk or Pidge, or what they would say, or whether they would be mad or disappointed that he and Keith went into San Francisco without them. Lance shook his head.

            Keith laughed. “What? They’re big kids so they can take care of themselves?”

            Lance didn’t really respond. He just wrapped his arms around Keith and ran his fingers through his hair—which was _hellishly_ soft, by the way—and kissed him again.

            “Just you and me, then?” Keith asked as Lance broke away.

            Lance nodded. “Just you and me.”

            He didn’t know what they would be together—alone. All the time they’d spent so far had been with other people, or while working, or stolen two-minute moments while everyone else was otherwise occupied. Jeeze, the way the whole confession-reciprocation thing had gone that day was evidence enough. If they were going to figure this thing out—if this was going to _be_ a “thing”—they needed space to see. And see clearly.

            “Then are you going to talk to Hunk tonight?”

            The question sent a surge of panic through every one of Lance’s limbs. He’d said he didn’t want to go behind Hunk’s back, and he _didn’t_ , but he’d also said that he and Keith should hold off until he’d had a chance to talk to Hunk, but that was before Keith had kissed him. Before that fire had been lit. But it was lit now, oh boy, and Lance had to be careful because he didn’t want it to go out.

            “Not tonight,” he said. “I’m… Tomorrow. When we get back. I’ll talk to Pidge. She’ll cover for me or keep him busy or something, and I can talk to him after.”

            “Are you sure?”

            Lance nodded. “I don’t want to waste any more time.”

            Keith’s eyebrows pulled together and he gave Lance this smile that made Lance’s heart pinch—so soft and sad. Lance could only half return it. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want to waste any more time, that was absolutely true, but it wasn’t _only_ that.

            If he held off on talking to Hunk until he and Keith had a chance to see if this was sustainable, or if it would even work, on the chance that it _didn’t_ , Lance wouldn’t have to tell Hunk anything, and the whole “coming out” terror could be shelved as a problem for Future Lance to deal with at his leisure. That was self-centered, and fatalistic, and he knew it, but…he was scared. He was scared of so many things lately.

            But then Keith’s tongue was in his mouth and he kind of forgot about everything else.

            What had he expected? He couldn’t have defined it if someone had held a gun to his head. He hadn’t really let himself think about Keith all that much—too nervous about where that might lead. But he hadn’t expected this—this _artistry_. Keith was as skilled with his lips and his hands as he was with a camera. Lance felt like one of his films.

            “You should probably get back,” Keith said.

            Lance shook his head. “One more.”

            Keith’s teeth glinted in a positively gut-curling grin, like a wolf or some shit, and Lance wondered for a second at his ever drawing a connection between Keith and a baby deer, but Keith kissed the simile out of him. Lance’s mind filled instead with the heat of their contact and his desire to run his fingers over every inch of Keith’s skin. He had to settle for the back of Keith’s neck and shoulder. His fingers lingered even as Keith pulled away.

            “Damn, Bambi.”

            “Don’t call me that,” Keith said, but the deep, dusky tone of his voice and the way he smirked pretty much guaranteed that Lance was going to call him that for the rest of time.

            “ _Bambi_.”

            Rolling his eyes, Keith pushed Lance toward the ladder. Lance obliged with a knowing grin, but when the two of them got to the bottom, neither walked away. They just looked at the grass in silence until Lance cleared his throat.

            “So, what are we gonna go see tomorrow?” he asked.

            “You’re the one who hasn’t been,” Keith replied. “What do you want to see?”

            Stepping forward, Lance took Keith’s face in his hands. “Just you.”

            Keith stifled a smile. “Wow. Cheesy.”

            “You liked it,” Lance laughed.

            “No I didn’t.”

            “Yes you did.”

            “N—”

            Lance squished Keith’s cheeks between his hands. Keith jerked away, complaining, and yanked on Lance’s wrists to wriggle free, then tossed his arms aside.

            “Christ. For a second, I forgot you were annoying.”

            Lance just grinned. “Liked it,” he chimed.

            Keith glared, but the expression was a poor veil for the amusement in his eyes. Lance stepped forward again, and Keith stepped back, so Lance put up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

            “I’ll be nice,” he said.

            Skeptical, Keith held still. His eyes stayed locked on Lance as Lance closed the distance between them. He wrapped Keith up in a hug, held him close, and the warmth of the embrace made him realize that he hadn’t hugged anybody since he’d left his house the morning he’d started working for the Carnival of Lions. A wave of homesickness overtook him, and he hugged Keith tighter in response—starving now that he’d fed the hunger a little.

            Keith’s own arms settled, hesitant, around his back.

            “I want to see the Golden Gate Bridge,” Lance said.

            “Okay.”

            “And eat sourdough bread.”

            “Okay.”

            “And go to Alcatraz.”

            “There won’t be tickets available tomorrow.”

            Lance smiled, stooping to rest his chin over Keith’s shoulder. “Oh, so you’re _not_ going to be perfectly accommodating?”

            “It’s not my fault they sell out.”

            With a quiet chuckle, Lance readjusted and held on snug, enjoying the way Keith just seemed to _fit_ —in spite of the fact that the guy was basically stiff as a board and radiating an aura of discomfort. It was funny. Keith was perfectly fine kissing the crap out of Lance on the roof of the trailer, but cagey when it came to a simple hug. Lance tucked his nose into the soft knit of Keith’s sweater. Jeeze, he smelled so _good_.

            “Are you done being nice yet?” Keith asked.

            Lance laughed. “Not yet.”

            Keith hummed a small, irritated note.

            “Let me have this, man. I haven’t hugged anybody in a month.”

            A breath huffed through Keith’s nose, but he didn’t object. He didn’t exactly relax, either, but he did become less rigid the longer Lance held on. After a moment, Keith lifted one of his hands and settled it on the back of Lance’s head, stroking his fingers through his hair. Lance couldn’t help letting out a contented sigh.

            Keith shifted in his arms, so Lance obliged, leaning back and loosening his grip, but Keith only moved so far as to bring them face to face once more. His eyes flicked between Lance’s, then down to his mouth. Just _that_ was enough to make Lance’s pulse spike.

            “I—I, uh…I should go.”

            He started to pull away, but Keith clamped his arms.

            “Uh-uh,” he said. “You get to be nice, I get to be nice.”

            Lance started to say something cool (but stupid) like, “Oh, is that how it works?” but Keith was already kissing him. His knees went weak and his arms turned into jelly and his eyebrows pulled together, but _Jesus_. There was no way he’d ever get enough of this. He did his best to scoop the gooey puddle he’d become into a sensible shape and kiss Keith back, but when he did, and Keith made one of those _noises_ , Lance pretty much evaporated.

            Ooh, boy. In trouble indeed.

            “Sorry,” Keith breathed. “If this is too fast…”

            Lance at least had the wherewithal to shake his head. The motion brought some clarity back to his brain.

            “No,” he said. “No, I mean—yeah, it’s all good. Totally good.”

            Keith smirked. “Very convincing.”

            “You get very convincing or cheesy, those are my two settings.”

            Smiling this slow, sultry smile that made Lance feel _all_ kinds of things, Keith slid against him as he slipped away.

            “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

            Voice pitched like six octaves higher, Lance answered, “ _Yup_.”

            Keith laughed, which sparked a little angry embarrassment in Lance, but it was more embarrassment than anger, so he just pressed his lips together and turned his eyes to the grass, feeling like a real dumbass. Keith’s shoes stepped into view. Lance looked up.

            “I’m excited,” Keith said, tucking his hair behind his ear and glancing away. “About you, about _this_. I… Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.”

            Those last five words were practically one, blended together on the speed at which they were spoken. Keith popped up onto his toes for a second and smacked a chaste kiss on Lance’s cheek that had him blushing in a different way, then Keith scurried around the side of the trailer to the door.

            “Keith!”

            The guy paused at the top of the stairs. Lance smiled.

            “Me too,” he said.

            Keith smiled back—big and wide, his chest rising, swelling, as he drew a deep breath in, then gave a single nod and went inside.

            Lance grinned like an idiot the whole way back to his trailer.

 

Later, he woke up to a demon climbing into his bed.

            “Holy _shit!_ ”

            He sat up, got tangled in his sleeping bag, and kicked out his legs to push whatever it was off the edge of the bunk. Luckily, Pidge was quick enough to catch herself on the walls before toppling out.

            “For godsake, Lance, it’s just me,” she hissed in a whisper, her arms splayed to either side, fingers white as she gripped on for dear life.

            “ _What the hell are you doing?_ ” he responded.

            She hauled herself forward with a grunt, then skittered further into the bunk, making all kinds of swishy sounds on his sleeping bag until she was tucked up against the back wall and right in his face. Her hair was a mess, but she’d taken the time to put her glasses on. The dim light that filtered in through the curtain on Lance’s bunk’s window reflected off the lenses.

            “So?” she said.

            “So _what?_ Pidge—”

            Apparently, he was being too loud, because Pidge pushed her hand against his mouth to shut him up. She listened for a second, satisfied only when she heard Hunk’s gentle snoring from the couch-bed. Giving Lance a look that said, “Stay quiet,” she removed her hand.

            “You went to see Keith, right?”

            Surprised, he opened his mouth to deny it, but thought better of that and nodded instead.

            “Any…developments?”

            Lance was grateful that the dark would at least cover his blush, though given how close she’d situated herself, it was possible she would feel the radiation of the heat.

            “Yeah…” he managed.

            “Like…what? You guys exchange numbers, or…?”

            “We kissed.”

            “You _kissed?_ ”

            Lance nodded, feeling his face go so hot it was a basic guarantee Pidge would sense it.

            “ _You KISSED?_ ”

            He looked at her to ask why she was being such a freak about it, but the question faltered when she squelched a screech of delight and kicked her feet in these short, excited little bursts. It was Lance’s turn to shush _her_ , but Pidge would not be shushed.

            “Oh my god, was it good? Did you like it? Is he a bad kisser? Did you kiss more than once? Did you _remember_ exchange numbers or are you both too dumb? What are you gonna do tomorrow—holy shit…” She went silent, then looked to Lance, her face gone serious. “What are you gonna tell Hunk?”

            They were both quiet. Hunk’s snores seemed louder than before.

            “ _Are_ you gonna tell Hunk?”

            The snoring stopped. Both of them held their breath. Lance squeezed his eyes shut and listened extra hard. Rustling as Hunk turned over. Then the snoring resumed.

            “I am, yeah,” Lance whispered.

            “Wow,” Pidge replied, but the expression was empty.

            They sat in silence side by side for a second. Lance had no idea what time it was, but it felt late—or early, he wasn’t sure—and in a matter of hours he’d be on a train into San Francisco with Keith. Was it worth it? Was it worth all the turmoil, all the uncertainty? That big, black, nebulous Nothing was still waiting for him at the end of the summer. Did he want to throw Keith into that? Or was he throwing Keith _at_ that, like a shitty solution to a problem that couldn’t be solved? Did he want to be out? Like, _out_ out? He didn’t know. Sighing, he shut his eyes and rested his head against the wall.

            What _did_ he know?

            An image of Keith flickered across the backs of his eyelids—not a memory exactly, but something like it. In the image, Keith was standing next to the Ferris wheel at night, all the lights on his face as he looked up toward the top.

            Lance knew then that he would spend the rest of his life wondering “what if” if he didn’t go for it now.

            “Pidge?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Keith and I made plans to go to San Francisco tomorrow, just…um, just the two of us.”

            She nodded.

            “Could you, like, I don’t know, cover for me with Hunk?”

            “What do you want me to tell him?” she asked.

            The question tangled Lance’s gut up in this horrible way. The choice between saying something now and saying something later was either a choice between the lesser of two evils or simply delaying the inevitable. Lance _hated_ the idea of lying to Hunk, but the thought of waking the guy up in the middle of the night to launch a big, “Hey, I’m bi, by the way,” on him was somehow more horrible.   

            “I don’t know,” Lance replied. “Maybe you don’t have to say anything. Just that you don’t know where I am. And maybe convince him to do something with you outside the city so we don’t run into each other.”

            “Okay.”

            He looked at her, lips pursed, eyebrows pulled together. She looked back, steady and confident. She was such a good friend.

            “Thanks, Pidge.”

            She nodded. “No prob, Bob. We talked about going over to Stanford to see Matt and like tour the campus and stuff. Do you care if we do that without you?”

            It’d be a bummer to miss Matt, but Lance could give a rat’s ass about the college tour. As if he needed an all-day reminder about his apparent failure as a recent high school grad. He shook his head.

            “No, that’s okay. Will you, like…try to talk Matt into coming to the carnival sometime though?” he asked. “I want to see him.”

            “Oh, Matt will not have to be _talked into_ coming to the carnival, my dude.”

            Lance smiled. “Good.”

            Pidge gave him a firm nod, very much an agreement to a battleplan. They were quiet again for a moment until Pidge nudged him.

            “So?” she said. “How was it?”

            “I don’t kiss and tell, Pidge.”

            She snorted. “ _That’s_ a bald-faced lie.”

            He couldn’t help laughing a little bit, though he did remember to be quiet. Hunk was a heavy sleeper, but it still paid to be careful. Pidge raised her eyebrows, tilting her face down to look at him over the rim of her glasses. He snorted again, but then turned his gaze to his feet. A stupid smile crept onto his mouth as his toes curled into his sleeping bag.

            “Really good,” he said.

            Pidge socked his shoulder. “Yeah, buddy. Tongue?”

            He shoved her sideways, shaking his head. “You’re such a goblin.”

            She gasped. “You did! You French kissed _Keith!_ ”

            “Shut up, Pidge,” Lance hissed, shoving her again, then getting his legs behind her and launching her off the bunk. She shrieked and landed with a thud, which by that point was enough to wake up Hunk.

            “Aliens!” he shouted, blankets and sleeping bag rustling like he was struggling to escape.

            “Sorry, Hunk,” Pidge replied. “It’s just me. I got up to pee and I tripped.”

            “Oh, thank god.” Hunk let his breath out. “You scared me.”

            “Yeah, my bad,” Pidge said. She flashed Lance a glare, then went into the bathroom and dinked around for a second, flushing the toilet and turning on the sink before coming back out. “Night, buddy. Sorry I woke you.”

            But Hunk was already asleep.

            Pidge climbed into her bunk and rustled around down there for a second. Then Lance’s phone lit up. It was only midnight, and the text was from Pidge.

                        _First of all, you can go straight to hell_

_Second, you’re welcome_

_Third…_

A different-shaped text bubble popped up on the screen—she’d shared a contact with him. Somebody she’d labeled “Youthanasia”. His heart skipped a beat. It had to be Keith.

_wait, why do you have Keith’s number?_

_Because I’m not an idiot_

_Oh wait hang on_

She sent him the same contact again, only this time it had been renamed to “Kiss Me Like One of Your French Girls” and she giggled in the bunk below him.

“I hate you,” he whispered.

            “Goodnight, Loverboy Lance,” she replied.

            He rolled his eyes, but added the contact to his phone—then changed the name immediately, of course. Typing “Keith” out on the first name line felt so stupid good. He smiled at it like a dumbass for a second, then scrolled through the emojis and added a little red heart, which made him smile like an even _bigger_ dumbass, and he clicked _Done_ before he could change his mind. Then he typed out a quick message to Keith and sent it off without a second thought.

                                                                                    _hey, it’s Lance, Pidge gave me your number!_

                                                                                    _I’m super excited for tomorrow! see you at_

                                                                                    _8!_  

            He settled down and shut his eyes, not expecting a response, but his phone lit up again a few seconds later.

            Keith—and he’d sent a little red heart.

 

In his excitement, Lance was up even earlier than the usual break-of-dawn. He took his time getting dressed and ready—not that he had a lot of options for wardrobe given the fact that he’d only brought a single duffle bag—and was super quiet while he did, eventually slipping out the door at seven before Hunk or Pidge had cracked an eye.

            The air outside was warmer than it had been, a little further south and a little later in the season. He went to the employee food area, where breakfast was cooking, and grabbed a couple of water bottles and some of the snack bars the chefs always had out. But he didn’t have a bag, or enough pocket space, so he just kind of hung onto it all while he wandered around the Alameda fairgrounds, waiting for it to be eight o’clock already.

            He arrived at Keith’s trailer exactly as Keith was leaving.

            How was it possible that he could look that pretty? Dark grey denim jacket and a red zip-up hoodie over a black t-shirt and leggings. He had his camera bag slung over one shoulder and pulled a loose beanie onto his head before turning around and noticing Lance. He smiled, and Lance’s everything stopped.

            “Hi,” Keith said, trotting down the stairs.

            Lance shook himself out of his stupor and moved to meet him. “Hi.”

            Should they kiss? Were they at the kiss-greeting stage yet? Neither of them seemed to know, so they stood there for a second, looking at each other, before Keith patted a hand on his camera bag.

            “We can put those in here if you want?” he said, meaning the food and water Lance was holding, but it took Lance a second to connect the dots.

            “Oh! Are you sure?”

            Keith nodded. “You don’t want to carry them in your hands all day, do you?”

            He did not, but he also didn’t want Keith to have to lug around shit he hadn’t even brought either. Lance passed him the water and stuff piece by piece, saying, “Then you have to let me carry the bag at some point.”

            “I don’t _have_ to let you do anything,” Keith countered. He clipped the bag shut, smiled, and headed toward the front of the fairgrounds. Startling, Lance fell into step beside him.

            They walked to a bus stop just across the street and caught the bus to the BART station, where Keith had to talk Lance through the whole ticket-buying process. The station was pretty busy, it being eight-fifteen on a Wednesday with adult humans with real-human jobs needing to get into the city, so they almost missed the next train, and only snagged seats because they were getting on at the end of the line.

            Breathless, Keith turned to smile up at him as the train lurched into motion.

            “Hi,” Lance said again with a laugh.

            Keith did not stop smiling. “Hi.”

            Lance couldn’t help himself then. He took Keith’s face in his hands and admired him for a second before touching a kiss to his mouth. Lance tried to keep it casual, but Keith pushed into him, kissing back with a surprising amount of force, and stealing a few more kisses as Lance pulled away.

            “Jesus…” he breathed. “Do you know how to kiss, like, regular?”

            Keith raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You didn’t like it?”

            “I didn’t say _that…_ ”

            Chuckling, Keith gave him another kiss, which earned a petulant _ahem_ from one of the other passengers. Keith sat back, settling, wry smile on his mouth. He jumped, though, when Lance took his hand.

            “Oh, sorry.” Lance’s fingers shied back reflexively.

            “No, it’s fine, sorry, I—”

            “Sorry.”

            “Sorry…”

            Lance released a short laugh on a self-effacing breath of air, then offered Keith his hand with a small smile. Keith hesitated, but it didn’t look like he didn’t want to—more like he didn’t know what to do. Placing his hand in Lance’s, he glanced up, this expression in his eyes that looked like a worried, “Like this?” Lance laced their fingers together and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

            They sat like that for most of the ride, Lance admiring the view out the windows, Keith almost comically stiff.

            “You can relax, Bambi,” Lance said, lifting their hands to show Keith his white-knuckle grip with a chuckle. “You’re kind of cutting off my circulation here.”

            Keith started and released the death hold. “Sorry.”

            “It’s okay.”

            Keith looked away, so Lance leaned over to catch his eye.

            “Are you…nervous?”

            Keith nodded.

            “How come?”

            A shrug. “I don’t…I don’t know. I don’t really know how to be…regular.”

            “What? Just, like, holding hands?”

            Another nod.

            “Okay.”

            Lance eased back and thought for a moment, Keith’s tense hand in his resting on his knee. It was instinct to brush his thumb across Keith’s, but the gesture seemed to have the opposite of a calming effect. The guy had been the same way about the hug last night. Careful, Lance sat up again and looked at Keith, speaking softly.

            “Can I make you a deal?” he asked.

            Keith looked at him, listening.

            “I’ll teach you how to hold hands and give hugs, and you teach me how to kiss like you.”

            A flash went through those dusky eyes, and the smile that rose on Keith’s mouth was so absolutely gorgeous, Lance had a hard time not tugging him forward to kiss it right then.

            “Deal,” Keith said.

            Lance laughed, Keith settled again and, while he never relaxed completely, he did seem more at ease, and let Lance continue to hold his hand as they got off the train at the Embarcadero stop and walked up to street level.

            Lance’s immediate impression of San Francisco was that it just felt _big_. Almost every building around the station was a skyscraper, and there were so many people out. Not that San Diego wasn’t big, but it was a familiar big. San Francisco was different. It smelled like fish, and the ocean, and city, but was also somehow fresh and bracing. Big, but _light_. Like the sun.

            “Where to first?” he asked, smiling at Keith who had pulled up walking directions on his phone.

            “Well, _I_ haven’t eaten breakfast, and you said you wanted sourdough, so we’re going to Boudin, and you’re gonna buy me a grilled cheese.”

            “Oh, am I?” Lance laughed.

            Expression serious, Keith looked up at him. “Unless you want me to starve?”

            Lance startled. “I didn’t mean—”

            Keith’s serious face broke in a grin, and it was all Lance could do not to release an audible sigh of relief. Chuckling, Keith tugged on his hand and led him down the street.

            “I’ll have to teach you how to make better jokes while I’m at it,” Lance grumbled.

            They turned at the corner and kept on trucking—past more tall buildings and a lot of busy traffic, then tennis courts, where the street turned left and they continued forward down a shady pedestrian walkway. At the end of it was the Bay and a road cut down the middle by palm trees and streetcar tracks. They crossed to walk along the waterfront.

            “I like the vibe,” Lance commented absently.  
            “Mm.”

            “Have you been here a lot?”

            “Not a lot. Three or four times, maybe.”

            Lance nodded.

            “But for, like, six days each of those times.”

            “You’re the worst, you know that?” Lance replied with a laugh. Keith glared at him, but it was playful.

            The walk, in total, look maybe half an hour, which was a decent length for a walk, but Lance was more than happy. New city. Cute boy to hold hands with. Keith was dead-set on getting them to their destination, though, and didn’t even slow down when Lance noticed the Aquarium of the Bay, gasped, and stopped dead in his tracks. Keith, still barreling ahead, got to the end of his tether where his and Lance’s hands were joined, and nearly pulled both of their arms out of their sockets.

            “Can we _go?_ ” Lance asked when Keith looked back at him, his eyebrows raised to what-the-hell position.

            “You want to go to the _aquarium?_ ”

            “ _Yes_. Don’t say aquarium like that.”

            “ _Why?_ ”

            “Because—fish—Keith—they have a _shark!_ ” Lance gestured emphatically at one of the big photos on the outside of the building.

            “You want to see that specific shark?”

            “No—yes—I don’t know, I probably won’t be able to find _that_ shark specifically, but I really want to go.” He pulled Keith toward him and clutched the guy’s hand over his heart, batting his eyelashes and pouting out his bottom lip. “Please?”

            “We come all the way to San Francisco, and you want to go to the goddamn _aquarium_.”

            “I will buy you ten grilled cheeses.”

            “I don’t _want_ ten grilled cheeses,” Keith replied.

            He tried to move away, but Lance dug his heels, so his arm pulled taught again.

            “ _Lance._ ”

            “Please?”

            A glare started to form on Keith’s features, so Lance reeled him in, trapping the guy in a hug from which there was no escape. Nose to nose, Lance smiled at him.

            “Please?” he said again.

            Keith’s brows lowered in a scowl. Lance pecked a kiss to his lips.

            “Please?”

            “Let _go_.”

            Keith dodged the kiss that time, turning his face to the side so that it landed on his cheek. His scowl deepened. Lance picked him up.

            “What are you doing?”

            “I’m gonna squish the grumpies out,” Lance replied.

            “ _What?_ ”

            But it was way too late for Keith to stop him. “Squishing the grumpies out” was this thing Lance’s mom had done to them as kids—and still did, frankly, when one of her children was being ridiculous—where she’d wrap them in a bone-crushing hug, lift them off the ground, and sing a little song, the only lyrics to which were, “I’m squishing the grumpies out.” The thing that made it particularly horrible was that it actually worked. It was just so friggin’ stupid. And Keith tried _really_ hard not to laugh, he did, but nobody could withstand having the grumpies squished out of them.

            He cracked up on about the third line of the song and shouted, “Okay! Okay! We can go to the aquarium! Christ. Will you put me down?”

            Lance obliged, but he did not let go. He smiled at Keith instead, holding him close.

            “I hate you,” Keith said, but it was followed by a kiss.

           

They got breakfast at Boudin, and had maybe the best grilled cheese Lance had ever eaten in his life. Keith, King of Spite, wouldn’t let Lance pay for his even though he offered like five times. He wouldn’t let Lance pay for his admission to the aquarium either.

            “I’m gonna make sure that’s a thirty dollars you don’t regret,” Lance said, taking Keith’s hand as they walked inside.

            Keith simply rolled his eyes, and he trailed behind Lance for the majority of the first exhibits even though their fingers were interlaced.

To be perfectly honest, Lance didn’t mind. The aquarium’s displays were so gorgeous, he kind of got lost in them. He could have watched fish for hours. Back in San Diego there was this Chinese restaurant that had been his favorite as a kid just because there was a fish tank in the lobby. Probably not best practice for a date, but Lance dissociated into the water behind the glass and floated through the exhibits like a jellyfish.

            Fish. Sharks. Touch pools. Otters. Penguins. Fish, fish, fish, and a kelp forest that swayed like there was a real current washing around it. Water. Lance was the water. One with the water, and watching the fish.

            He came back to himself in front of the open sea tank when he felt a pair of lips on his cheek. Startling, he looked at Keith and found him smiling. The expression was wistful, sad almost, and he looked stunning in the light refracted through the aquarium glass.

            “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Lance said, his mouth falling open as he realized how fully he had disappeared. “I didn’t…”

            Keith shook his head. “Best thirty dollars I ever spent.”

            Blushing, Lance looked at his feet. Keith stepped up to the open sea tank and peered inside—content, but not particularly impressed.

            “Have we seen your shark yet, do you think?” he asked, smiling over his shoulder.

            Lance grinned. “Not yet.”

            He was attentive through the rest of the exhibits, probably _too_ attentive, babbling on about the rays and eels and octopi to a Keith who listened, but probably didn’t care. Lance could have spent the rest of the day in the aquarium until it closed, but decided not to strain Keith’s good graces too far, so they left just after lunchtime and ate at Boudin again because when were they going to be able to get another grilled cheese like that?

            “What’s next on the agenda?” Lance asked as they left the bakery.

            “Oh, the agenda derailed about three hours ago,” Keith replied with a chuckle, “so you have to prioritize what you want to do.”

            He listed off a bunch of options, most of which meant nothing to Lance outside of the words “cable car” and “Golden Gate Bridge”. As Keith was talking, Lance realized he probably should have done some research, or at the very least googled “things to do in San Francisco,” but then Keith said “the Castro” and a little bell went off in Lance’s head.

            “Wait, isn’t that, like, the gay neighborhood?”  

            Keith nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it’s more than that, but yeah.”

            Lance’s heart twisted with a sudden desperation. “Let’s go.”

            They boarded one of the vintage trolleys and rode the F-line to the Castro District and when the neighborhood came into view, Lance’s heart untwisted in an instant to soar. There were so many _rainbows_. Flags, signs in store windows, even the _streetlamps_ had rainbow banners hanging on them. They hopped off the trolley, and Lance just stood there, basking. Then there was a hand in his, and he looked to find Keith—smiling a small, shy smile. And Lance smiled back, so big and bright. It was like the smile was bursting out of him. He squeezed Keith’s hand hard.

            “Show me around,” he said.

            So Keith did, and they walked hand-in-hand up Castro Street along the rainbow honor walk, pausing to read every one of the plaques in silence. Beautiful bronze plates, engraved with pictures and stories of people like them. People like them who had fought so that _they_ could be there, reading those plaques and holding hands while they did it.

            The pair of them reached one of the crosswalks that had been painted over with a rainbow then, and Lance stopped in the middle of it, just…overcome.

            Keith looked back at him, still wearing that sad smile. “You okay?” he asked.

            Lance nodded, but his throat went tight. He laughed at himself, and the laugh was teary.

            “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m good, I just… This is really cool.”

            “I know, but let’s get out of the road, okay?”

            Laughing at himself again, Lance let Keith lead him from the crosswalk to the street corner, but he didn’t go farther than that. They stood still, at the intersection of so many rainbows, and were quiet.

            “I feel kinda…proud, I guess,” Lance said. His bottom lip trembled, so he bit it between his teeth. He glanced at Keith, and Keith was smiling, but then his eyes caught on something just over Lance’s shoulder.

            “Stay right here,” he said, and slipped away.

            “What?” Lance called, turning.

            “Don’t move!” Keith called back.

            A little startled, Lance did what he was told, holding still until he heard Keith’s footsteps on the sidewalk behind him. When had he learned to recognize Keith’s footsteps?

            “Close your eyes,” Keith said.

            Lance obeyed.

            “Are they closed?”

            He nodded.

            Keith moved closer, then, and Lance jumped when the guy put his hands on the front of his jacket. Keith chuckled.

            “Hold still,” he said.

            He fiddled with the fabric for a second, then his hands fell away.

            “Okay. You can open them now.”

            Lance looked down immediately to see what Keith had done to his jacket, expecting some kind of vandalism, but what he saw instead made his stomach twirl.

            Shining on the lapel was a little enamel bi pride flag pin.

            His emotions finally got the better of him then, and he laughed, tears spilling over as he looked at that pin and his heart swelled all the way to bursting. He gathered Keith’s face up in his hands and kissed him, and the kisses were a little salty because of the tears, but he couldn’t make them stop. Neither could he stop kissing this beautiful, beautiful person who suddenly meant the whole world to him. He pressed their lips together over and over again, just so goddamn _grateful_ for everything all at once. To be there, to be there with _Keith,_ to be alive, to _be._

            Keith laughed, returning each kiss until Lance pulled back and pressed their foreheads together.

            “Can I buy you one?”

            A kiss. “Sure.”

            They went like ten feet up the street to a silly souvenir shop that had the enamel pins in the window. Lance picked one of the rainbow flag, paid for it at the counter, and then went back outside to pin it to Keith’s jacket. Well, he tried to pin it at least. The denim was kind of thick, and it barely fit through, so the whole thing was a major struggle, but Keith grabbed his hands after he’d secured the backing and kissed him that way only Keith knew how to kiss and had promised to teach him. Lance dissociated then, too, disappearing into Keith the same way he’d disappeared into the water.

            _Jesus_ , he was so in love with him.

            Lance startled.

            He was _in love with Keith?_

            Speak.

            “Thank you,” he whispered, but Keith just kissed the words from his mouth, and Lance lost himself again.

            In love, in love, in love, in love, he was in love with Keith, and wasn’t that terrifying? Yes, and no. No, and yes. In love, in love, but he’d been in love for a while. For a long while. Because Keith had been different. Keith hadn’t felt like anybody else, and it was good, and it hurt, and Lance was really beginning to think that maybe that’s what love felt like at first. That hurt was settling now, into a steady, burning desire just to _be_ with this person. To know him, inside and out. And be known in return.

            And he knew—because he was learning—that now was not the time to say or speak. Not for Keith, and Lance could be okay with that, because he knew him, and he wanted him to be happy and comfortable more than he had wanted anything in the world. So he kept quiet. For now. Filing those words away so they could slip out later and startle them both. So he could forget about them, and go back to being infatuated with this insatiably breathtaking human being.

            “You wanna see the Golden Gate Bridge now?” Keith asked.

            Lance nodded.

            He did.

            He really did.

 

Keith fell asleep on the train ride back home, his head on Lance’s shoulder, and Lance relished the contact since this would probably be the last time for a while that Keith snuggled him “regular” until he learned how. He woke up with a start at the stop before theirs and looked at Lance, eyes drowsy but surprised.

            “Sorry,” he said.

            Lance kissed him. “It’s okay.”

            They got off at Pleasanton and caught the bus back to the fairgrounds. It wasn’t quite late enough for the carnival to be closed, so they returned to a sea of flashing lights and merry-go-round music and the smell of cotton candy. It surprised Lance how homey the carnival felt. While it had picked up and changed locations, it was still the same place somehow. A place he had lived for a month.

            He walked Keith back to his trailer and they kissed goodbye.

            “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Lance asked.

            Keith nodded. “Somebody’s got to make sure you don’t kill guests on the Fireball.”

            “Oh, please. They’d only pass out.”

            Keith laughed, and then they looked at each other in some kind of dreamy effect that Lance really didn’t want to break.

            “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

            “See you.”

            But nobody moved.

            “Bye.”

            “ _Bye._ ”

            They just kept looking.

            Then an exaggerated girly voice said through the open window, “No, you hang up first!”

            They looked to find Shiro grinning at them from inside the kitchen. Lance blushed, and Keith went red, but his was because he was mad.

            “Shiro!” he growled, hauling up the steps, throwing open the door, then turning around and coming back down to give Lance one last, quick kiss before hauling back up them again. Some kind of metal pan clattered inside the trailer and then Shiro was giggling and yelling, “Don’t hit! Don’t hit!” Something heavy landed on the floor with a thud right after.

            “Bye, Lance!”

            He looked up to find Keith grinning at him from the window, a little taller than he should have been.

            “Bye, Bambi,” Lance replied.

            “I said don’t call me that.”

            But then Keith disappeared, falling, it looked like, and reappeared in a fireman carry over Shiro’s shoulder.

            “Put me down, Takashi!”

            “Squish his grumpies out!” Lance called.

            Shiro laughed, saluting Lance and carrying Keith out of view of the window.

            For the second night in a row, Lance grinned like an idiot all the way back to his trailer, but that grin faded when he arrived and heard Hunk and Pidge talking inside. He paused at the bottom of the steps, and looked at his feet, prepared to draw in a breath, but then his eyes caught instead on the pride pin Keith had bought him, and suddenly he didn’t need that breath to steady him anymore.

            Lance went inside.

            Hunk and Pidge were in the breakfast nook, sorting through a pile of books and clothes and stuff with STANFORD plastered all over it. Pidge went tense when she saw him, but Lance gave her a reassuring smile and she eased.

            “Hey, man, we missed you today,” Hunk said, turning around in the booth to smile at him. “Where you been?”

            “Keith and I went into the city,” Lance replied.

            “Yeah?” Hunk sounded both confused and also glad that Lance had done something worthwhile. “What did you guys do?”

            “Can I talk to you, actually…Hunk?” Lance asked, gesturing out the door with his thumb.

            Hunk glanced at Pidge—looking for a cue—but she didn’t give him anything to go on, really. Just a bewildered stare that was directed at Lance, who could tell, only because he had context, that she hadn’t expected this to actually happen. Hunk stood up, said, “Sure, man,” and followed Lance outside.

            They walked a little ways in an expectant silence, Lance leading to some picnic tables and climbing up to sit on top of one. Hunk joined him, his eyes glued to Lance’s face in concern.

            “Is everything okay, man?” he asked.

            Lance swallowed, nodded. “Yeah, everything’s great actually. How was Stanford?”

            “The campus is really pretty. And it was good to see Matt. He’s gonna come to the carnival tomorrow and hang out. How was…San Francisco?”

            So, so good.

            “Hunk, I have to tell you something.”

            “Okay…”

            Maybe he did need that deep breath after all.

            “Today,” he began, “Keith and I went to San Francisco on a date. I…um…I really like him. I have for a while. I’m…um. I’m bi.”

            He lifted his eyes and looked at Hunk, and Hunk was looking at him. His expression was stunned, but that quickly faded into something Lance could only describe as relief. Hunk blinked, looked into the middle distance, then nodded.

            “Bi. Okay. Cool.”

            “Sorry if that’s a lot, man, I don’t know, I just…wanted to be honest with you.”

            Hunk shook his head. “No, thanks. I appreciate it, I mean—oh, jeeze, is that a weird thing to say? I mean, I thought you were gonna tell me somebody _died_ , man.” He laughed a little bit.

            And with that laugh, all the tension between them disappeared.

            “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Lance said.

            “No, that’s okay, man.” Hunk shook his head, but then his eyebrows drew together and a small frown crossed his mouth. “I hope you didn’t feel like you _couldn’t_ tell me…”

            It was Lance’s turn to shake his head. “No, not at all. It’s not like that, it’s just…it’s a thing. And it’s a big thing for some people. It’s a lot to process, and I recognize that…” He smiled. “I never, I don’t know, was worried that you wouldn’t accept me.”

            Hunk nodded, looking at his hands. He twiddled his thumbs, thinking, then nodded again.

            “It _is_ a lot,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t change anything, really. Right? I mean, you’re still you, and I’m still me, and we’re the same people, I just have more information now.” He let a long breath out his nose. “Thanks—um…I’m glad you feel like…you can trust me with it.”

            He raised his eyes to Lance finally and offered a Hunk-sized smile. Lance returned it, and a weight he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying lifted from his shoulders. He actually teared up a little bit, part relieved, part happy. It made Hunk tear up, too, and they both laughed.

            “Can I, like, give you a hug, man?” Hunk asked.

            Lance nodded, and they stood up and Hunk enveloped him in one of his world-famous hugs. Lance hugged him back as hard as he could, but Hunk still beat him out. When they separated, they both took a step back from each other. Hunk smiled.

            “So…Keith, huh?”

            Blushing, Lance looked at the ground and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah…”

            “Oh my god…”

            Lance looked up and Hunk was staring into the air above his head like he’d just experienced some kind of revelation.

            “What?” Lance asked.

            “No, just— _so_ many things make sense now.” Laughing, he looked at Lance and his eyes were wide. “Oh man, you’ve had a crush on him since, like, day one, haven’t you?”

            Lance’s mouth startled open.

            “ _Haven’t_ you?” Lance’s silence was confirmation enough. Hunk threw his hands up in the air and whooped. “That’s so awesome, man! Congrats on your first date. How did it go? Did you have fun?” 

            “Hey!”

            They turned and found Pidge shouting at them from like thirty feet away.

            “Don’t even _think_ about starting a date story without me,” she said and jogged to meet them at the table. “Why’d you weirdos go so far away? I thought you got kidnapped.”

            “Can you imagine someone trying to kidnap _Hunk?_ ” Lance asked.

            “ _I’d_ kidnap Hunk,” she said, shoving her hands into the pocket on a new Stanford hoodie as she reached them. “Look at him. He’s so sweet.”

            “Aw, thanks, Pidge.”

            “Plus I could chain you to the oven and make you cook.”

            “N-okay, you ruined it.”

            Hunk’s expression went flat, but then the three of them laughed. Struck by another vein of wanting to cry, Lance slung his arms around both their shoulders. He wound up all slanted, since Pidge was shorter than him and Hunk was taller, but he pulled them in tight and just squeezed for dear life.

            “You guys are good friends,” he whispered. “Thank you…”

            “Don’t get your snot on my new sweatshirt,” Pidge whispered back.

            Groaning, Lance shoved her away, but she popped back up, grinning, her glasses glinting in the moonlight.

            “Now tell us about that date, McClain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hi, hi!
> 
> So, a few things. One, I'm sorry the update is so late. I got a little burnt out on this shtick for a second and needed a breather. It is, after all, more than three hundred pages long now. Whew. Two, the good (?) news is that as a result of that break, I've got a couple new projects on the burner for these boys! Keep an eye out for those in the near future, if you're interested! They are VERY different from Bambi, but in a good way, I think. Third, hit me with those comments as always, bbs. 
> 
> SUCH love from me to you! Thank you all for reading. It means the world to me. <3


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